Intensity
by MarauderLover7
Summary: Silence lay over the old, proud houses of Grimmauld Place. People were either away over the school holidays, or inside avoiding the heat. The only people left outdoors were a couple - the man tall, the woman pink-haired - who were standing in the park opposite Number 12, throwing sticks to a pair of large black dogs. Sequel to "Innocent", "Initiate", "Identity", and "Impose".
1. A Spy

"If you ask me, Crouch is vastink his time. All of zhese months spent hidink and plannink, and for what? Ve vill deal vith ze boy in August and zhat vill be ze end of it!"

"But nobody did ask you, Dmitri," Lord Voldemort said softly. Impatience crept into his tone. "And we have discussed this before, at length; I am not expecting either of you-" He turned to Wormtail, who was wringing his hands against the wall. If he had the ability, Lord Voldemort imagined he'd have melted into it to hide by now. As it was, he was surely having a hard time resisting the urge to transform and scurry away. "-to have any luck with the boy in August-"

"You doubt us?" Polkov demanded, eyes flashing.

"I doubt the boy will be allowed to attend," Lord Voldemort corrected.

"It's Quidditch" Wormtail said. "He'll be there."

"Then he'll be one amongst thousands, and well protected."

"Ve can handle his protectors."

"Then by all means, bring him to me. But Wormtail can attest to the fact that, even without protectors, Harry Potter is not entirely defenseless." Wormtail shook his sleeve down to cover the ruin of his hand as best he could.

"Vormtail is veak-"

"Wormtail remains the only one of the pair of you to have succeeded at anything in the past year, Dmitri." Lord Voldemort stroked the sleek fabric of his invisibility cloak.

Polkov's cheeks darkened at the reminder of his failure with Potter's muggle aunt, but he lifted his chin:

"I vill remind you zhat I haff gathered everythink you vill need to be reborn, and I haff kept you aliffe for months. If I had failed at zhat, ve vould not be haffink this conversation-" Lord Voldemort flung his Legillimency like a spear, sharp and heavy at Polkov's mind. For a moment his Occlumency held, but then it shattered and Polkov let out a groan and sank to his knees.

"And I will remind you, Dmitri," Lord Voldemort said coldly, "that it is only my mercy which has kept you alive these past few months. As you've pointed out, everything is already gathered, and now that Wormtail has returned he can take over your daily duties. If you wish to continue to live, I suggest you continue to make yourself useful." He twisted his spear of Legillimency as he withdrew it. Blood trickled from Polkov's nose.

"You promised I vould be rewarded for my aid," Polkov said, but his eyes were averted and his voice was small, humble. It helped that he was still on his knees, as well.

"And you shall be... provided you do not provoke me into disposing of you before then."

"My Lord. I vill… do better," Polkov said. Lord Voldemort sensed the words had cost him, and revelled in it.

"We shall see," he said.

* * *

"Guess who one of the Beauxbatons student chaperones is," Remus said, waving a letter at Sirius as he came down the stairs.

"You're joking," Sirius said. "Moony-" Then he shook his head. " _How_? We only found out yesterday-"

"I work quickly," Remus said shrugging. "And this way, Madam Maxime gets to keep me on; I can't Floo to France but I can Floo to Hogwarts, I know the students, she knows I can teach, an extra teacher can stay at Beauxbatons now, and I speak fluent English."

"And she hired you again, just like that?"

"This _is_ the woman that hired me with a day's notice when I first took the job," Remus said, amused. "And, as I've just pointed out to you, I was the perfect candidate for this."

"And- the baby? The whole point of you and Dora moving back here this year was so that you can have your kid..."

"The baby's not due for another few months," Remus said. "And even then, it's _our_ kid-" He jerked his head at the stairs. "-I'm worried about." He was smiling, but it was a grim sort of smile. "Have you told him yet?"

"Not yet," Sirius said.

"Sirius," Remus said, frowning.

"I'm not keeping it from him," Sirius said. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. Remus pursed his lips. "He's been at the Burrow," Sirius said, "and Kreacher sent him straight upstairs to shower when he got back. I honestly haven't seen him. I was going to tell him tonight."

"Oh. Good." Remus seemed mollified.

Last night, Marlene had _finally_ confessed what it was that she and a number of other Aurors had been working on for the past few months. She was right that he'd never have been able to guess it, but Sirius had still been furious; not only was the Triwizard Tournament _brilliant_ \- he and James had sent around a petition in their fifth year to try to get it brought back - and she'd kept it from him, but - and, more importantly - Harry'd heard Karkaroff's name mentioned in a dream about Voldemort last year and it seemed likely the Tournament was the reason.

He was an old Death Eater whose name Sirius had heard thrown around a lot in Azkaban - he'd given the Ministry names to avoid prison himself - and, after Harry's dream, Sirius had looked him up. Karkaroff was the Headmaster of Durmstrang, and, given that, Sirius had pushed him to the bottom of the list of things to worry about; Peter and his schemes to get the cloak had been more important, and Karkaroff hadn't been mentioned again, so Sirius had forgotten about him.

At least until he heard that Durmstrang would be competing in the tournament.

He'd gone right to Dumbledore, of course, only to find out Dumbledore had understood the implications as soon as he spoke to Harry the morning after that dream, and had been handling things since; he'd pushed for the Tournament to be held at Hogwarts - if it was elsewhere, Dumbledore would have had to leave the school to travel to Beauxbatons or Dumstrang. The alternative, unfortunately, was that Hogwarts would be overrun with strangers, any of whom could be working with Voldemort, but, at least Dumbledore would be around. Remus - who had been the first person Sirius went to after Marlene's confession - had in turn gone right to Madam Maxime and found himself a way to Hogwarts as well.

"What's that face for?" Remus asked.

"Trying to work out how to get Dumbledore to let me live at Hogwarts this year," Sirius muttered, and was only half-joking.

"See if they'll change the pet policy," Remus suggested. "They allow rats, and I'm fairly certain at least a few of the Slytherins have snakes." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I like your chances, though."

"They're better than my chances of convincing Harry to let me homeschool him."

"True," Remus said, with a faint smile. "Though you might have more luck if you extended the invitation to Hermione, Ron and Draco."

"That's not a bad idea," Sirius said.

"I was joking."

"I'm serious." Sirius did his best to resist the urge to waggle his eyebrows, but ultimately couldn't. "Get it?"

"You're terrible," Remus said, snorting. "And-"

A floorboard upstairs creaked and they both turned to look in the direction of the stairs. The house was silent.

"Harry." Nothing. Sirius didn't buy it for even a moment; he'd lived with Harry for long enough to know better. "Kreacher." Kreacher popped into being by the table, and gave Sirius a shallow bow. Sirius gestured for him to come closer and whispered, "Can you find Harry for me, please?" Kreacher vanished, and then Sirius heard a pop upstairs and a startled yelp.

"Master Sirius, the brat is being up here in the hallway," Kreacher called, trailing behind Harry as he came into view and started down the stairs. Harry had the grace to look sheepish, at least. Sirius exchanged a look with Remus, then gestured for Harry to take a seat.

"What did you hear?" Sirius asked, not sure whether to be amused or exasperated.

"You want to homeschool me." Harry did not look impressed.

"I said I didn't think there was a good chance of convincing you to let me homeschool you," Sirius corrected. A smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth.

"There isn't." He glanced between them, and Sirius knew he was taking in the scent of the room, because his smile faded. "What's going on?"

"Remember last year you dreamed about someone called Karkaroff?"

"Yes," Harry said uncertainly. "Why?"

"You're about to start hearing a lot more about him."

* * *

Narcissa knocked twice on the dark wood of Lucius' study's door and then pushed it open.

"In," she said, turning to Draco. They were almost of a height these days, and Hydrus had already overtaken her. Draco strode past, acknowledging Lucius with a slight nod but little else, and sat in the chair before the desk without waiting for an invitation.

Narcissa stepped into the office as well, pulling the door closed behind her. That seemed to unsettle Draco, who glanced warily between her and Lucius. She ignored the look and went to stand behind her husband's chair, letting him know with a light hand on his shoulder that she was ready.

"Draco," Lucius said, "we need to talk."

"I'd gathered," Draco replied, looking pointedly around the office. Lucius' shoulder stiffened beneath Narcissa's hand.

"Draco," she said. She kept her voice soft, but knew he heard the reprimand in it. "Lucius."

"This… will not be an easy conversation," Lucius said hesitantly. "There- we will discuss things today that you may not want to hear, but I ask that you listen until you are dismissed. These are important matters."

"Where's Hydrus, then?"

"Hydrus would not benefit from this conversation the same way that you will," Lucius said.

"Ah," Draco said curtly. "So is it my House you want to discuss, or my choice of friends?"

Lucius was silent, and Narcissa didn't need to see her husband's face to know he was flummoxed by the question. She squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Both," he said after a moment, and it almost sounded like a question. Draco rolled his eyes and stood.

"Good day, Father. Mother-"

"Sit, Draco," Narcissa said. "Please." He didn't sit, but he didn't move to leave, either. Lucius' hand came to rest on the one she had resting on his shoulder; a cue to take over. She squeezed his shoulder again. "The Dark Lord has made contact with your father." Lucius stiffened and half-turned to glare at her before he seemed to catch himself. Draco looked startled for a moment, then regained control. He looked at Lucius, and then to Narcissa, and then silently lowered himself into his chair. Narcissa couldn't even guess at what he might be thinking. "He's regaining his strength, Draco, and beginning to reach out to those that served him all those years ago."

"He'll have a body again within the year," Lucius said, "and then he intends to move against Dumbledore."

"Not Potter?"

"Potter will not fare well in what is to come," Lucius said. Narcissa squeezed his shoulder again, chiding this time; he had not said it gently. Not that that seemed to matter to Draco; his expression had not changed since he sat down. She wondered if that was a giveaway in and of itself.

Silence hung over the office, and Narcissa was grateful Lucius had the sense to let it stay silent; Draco's face was still a mask, but Narcissa knew he must be thinking and he deserved a moment to do so.

"Is this a warning?" Draco asked eventually. His eyes flickered but Narcissa couldn't read whatever it was that was in them.

"Of sorts," Lucius said, sounding faintly surprised; Narcissa knew he had not thought Draco would take it well when Potter was mentioned, and she'd agreed. "Draco, since your Sorting we have indulged you-"

"Indulged?" Draco said the word slowly, as if tasting it. His tone had no edge, and his expression was polite but Narcissa felt his scorn all the same.

"Yes," Lucius snapped; he'd clearly sensed it too. "I will not pretend the last three years have been easy. Nor will I pretend that I have ever been anything but disappointed with the Hat's decision. But, we have allowed you to remain at Hogwarts. We could have pulled you out the moment the Hat declared you a Gryffindor and sent you off to Durmstrang." Draco said nothing. "Instead, we have indulged you. The Dark Lord will not."

"The Dark Lord's followers are far from exclusively Slytherin," Draco said quietly. "Wormtail was a Gryffindor, Crouch-"

"It is not your Sorting he will not tolerate, Draco, but your attitudes and the company you keep. The Dark Lord has little patience for bloodtraitors like the Weasleys, or mudbloods like Granger, or halfbreeds like that oaf of a gamekeeper. And let's not even start on Potter…" Lucius shook his head, almost despairingly. "My point, Draco, is that we are trying to protect you. I would not see you meet the same fate as those whose company you keep, nor - if your association with them is born of genuine fondness, and not some pre-teenaged rebellion - have you surprised or saddened by what is to come."

"War." It wasn't a question.

"It was last time," Lucius said. Draco nodded. "Your mother and I have had a number of difficult conversations of late, discussing your options."

Hydrus would get no choice in the matter of his allegiance; he would serve as Lucius did, because he had been raised to think as Lucius did. Draco, though, would have a choice; Narcissa and Severus had made it so. The skills Severus had taught Draco at Narcissa's instruction would allow him to serve the Dark Lord as a spy, or oppose him from Potter's side, and - she hoped - survive whichever of the two he chose.

"What are they? My options."

"The Dark Lord could make great use of your place in Gryffindor and your apparent companionship with Potter, the same way he has used Severus to gather information about Dumbledore in the past."

"He'd ask me to become a spy," Draco said.

"Yes," Narcissa murmured.

"I- I'm not sure I could," Draco said. His expression was still under his careful control, but his eyes were those of a child.

"Then you will not," Narcissa said. "If you are to enter the Dark Lord's service, you will enter it whole-heartedly. Anything less and you will only put yourself at risk."

She'd worried after his first year that he'd decided too soon and thrown his lot in with Potter, but watching him now, she wasn't so sure:

It was possible his loyalty to Potter had sprung from feeling alienated by Lucius and Hydrus, and that this discussion - this honest, terrifying discussion - would give him a chance to reconnect with them. Hydrus had struggled - still struggled - with the fact that he'd lost his brother to the Sorting Hat, and she was sure Draco did too. And then there was Severus' influence to consider, Severus, who was one of the Dark Lord's most loyal followers, Severus, who knew the value of his skills too much to let them fall into Dumbledore's hands through Draco, Severus who'd never known Narcissa intended for Draco to have the second option with Potter and Dumbledore.

As if that were not complicated enough, Narcissa had come up with a third option, only recently. She knew it was one born of doubt, of fear; Severus had long ago stopped keeping her informed about Draco's progress in his 'lessons' - they might have ended and she'd be none the wiser. She'd thought they'd have more time, that by the time the time came for Draco to make his choice, she would have no doubts about whether he was ready to make it. But he was barely fourteen and she had been drowning in doubts since the Dark Lord spoke with Lucius about August.

"Your other option is Durmstrang," she said.

"You'd send me away?"

"If you decided that was best," Narcissa said. Draco looked at Lucius, vaguely disbelieving.

"If I'd had my way, you and Hydrus would have gone there and not to Hogwarts," Lucius said, giving Narcissa a mild look; she, after all, was the one who'd been adamantly against it. And yet, she was the one that had suggested it this time. Poor Lucius hadn't known what to make of it. "But yes. The move would be a way to cut any ties you have in Gryffindor before the Dark Lord could seek to use them. And if you have… doubts-" He said the word as if it were distasteful. "-about the Dark Lord, then the move would allow you to... have them, whilst ensuring you could not put us all at risk if you got carried away with Potter's lot."

Draco was struggling to keep a straight face now, but his expression was a mixture of so many different things Narcissa couldn't read it anyway.

"I imagine you're feeling rather overwhelmed," she said.

"A bit," Draco said. "Did you have more to discuss, or is that all of it?"

"Nothing more from me," Lucius said. Narcissa shook her head.

"In that case, may I be excused?" Draco stood without waiting for an answer, but waited for Lucius' gesture before he moved toward the door. It closed silently behind him.

Lucius' hand found Narcissa's, wrapped around it, and held it tight. Narcissa squeezed back with all her strength.

* * *

"You're here," Draco said, almost uncertainly.

"Your owl asked me to be," Severus said, hanging his travelling cloak on the back of his chair. He turned to arch an eyebrow at his godson, who was still standing before the fireplace, sooty, and looking lost. Severus lowered himself into his chair, and gestured to the one across from it. "What did you wish to discuss?"

"Why didn't you tell me the Dark Lord's been reaching out to his old followers?" Severus stared at him. He'd been expecting a complaint about Lucius, or- well, almost anything but that. "Father expects he'll have a body within the year."

"This is the first I've heard of it," Severus said,

"You've not been contacted?" Severus jerked his head.

"I presume your father has been?" Draco nodded, looking uncomfortable. "Perhaps the Dark Lord doubts my loyalty." It was not unexpected; after leaving Severus maimed and with altered memories after his attempts to steal the Stone, the Dark Lord would be a fool not to wonder if Severus had forsaken him. Even had that not happened, such a long time spent under Dumbledore's protection would have left him with doubts.

The issue now, was how Severus was going to convince the Dark those doubts were unfounded, that he was still loyal, still willing to serve.

"And since when does Lucius speak of the Dark Lord's plans with you?"

"Since now, apparently," Draco said. "Whatever issues he's had with me these past few years are clearly insignificant compared with the Dark Lord's return."

"And do you feel the same?

"I certainly think if there's a war coming there are more important things to dwell on than the colours of my school uniform." Draco lifted his chin. "I'm to become a spy like you, or go to Dumstrang." Oddly, it was the second part of that that caused Severus' heart to clench; he was far more comfortable with the idea of Draco as a spy, than he was with the idea of him so far away.

"These were the options presented to you by your mother and father?"

"Yes," Draco said. He was giving Severus precious little to work with.

"And have you given much thought as to which option you prefer?"

"No." Severus took a deep breath and prayed for patience, or at least, for the self-control to not shake his godson until he was more forthright. "I knew without much thought at all that I wouldn't be going to Dumstrang."

"Spy, then, by the process of elimination." _There_ was the dread Severus had expected to feel earlier, late, but no weaker for having been so. And for the first time that Severus could remember, he felt a vague distrust as well. He was being ridiculous, of course. Other than Dumbledore and - oddly enough - Black, Severus was at his least guarded around Draco. He had let him into his mind, had shared with him views that the Dark Lord would think treasonous, had let him see sides of Severus that few other people got to see. Severus cared deeply for the boy. But, he had not survived the war by ignoring his instincts, and so when the distrust crept in, he let it stay, considered it.

"I confess, Draco, I am surprised to see you taking your father's suggestions on board so… readily. I have come to expect-" _Better_. "-more resistance from you, wherever Lucius is involved."

"My father is not my enemy," Draco said quietly.

"You have not always believed that," Severus said, thinking of the furious boy he'd comforted after Granger's petrification, and of the vengeful one he'd sat with after Draco had woken up from his own petrification.

"No," Draco said, and Severus suspected he was thinking the same, "but I do now." Severus believed him. It was unnerving. The strand of distrust formed a small knot his his chest, beside his heart.

"Your father seems to have made quite an impression on you," Severus said.

 _Choose your words carefully. You never know who they might be repeated to, or who might be listening in, or who might pull the conversation out of your mind - or his - at a later date._ The old ways of thinking came back quickly.

"He wants what's best for me, I think," Draco said. "He just hasn't always shown it in the right ways."

"And what's best for you is for you to become a spy?" Severus watched his godson's expression, watched it remain unchanged, and sighed. "It is not an easy life, Draco."

"I suppose you'd know." Draco's tone was resigned, not provocative.

"Intimately," Severus said. "And it is most certainly not a path to take unless you are prepared to commit to it."

"Mother said something similar."

"She is correct. Wanting to please your father-" The idea of Draco wanting to please Lucius was absurd, yet here they were. "-or avoid schooling at Durmstrang might seem sufficient now, but I assure you, it will not sustain you."

"What sustains you?" Draco asked. Severus gave him a sharp look to let him know he'd crossed a line. Severus was so unnerved, so unprepared for this conversation that the look probably lacked the edge it ought to have had, but Draco had the grace to shrink a little anyway. "I- you did it in the war, but even when everyone thought the Dark Lord was gone you stayed near Dumbledore. You're still here now. Why?"

"I never believed the Dark Lord was gone," Severus said, picking his words with more care than he'd had to in years. "I knew, eventually, he would return and that I would need to be ready when he did. Dumbledore trusts me now, and that means I have access to information that no other Death Eater does. I intend to offer that information to the Dark Lord, to make myself valuable to him, to become one of his most favoured." It was the truth, too; the closer Severus could place himself to the Dark Lord, the better positioned he would be to feed information back to Dumbledore.

"So wanting to please my father isn't good enough, but wanting to please the Dark Lord is?"

"Do not pretend you wish to spy to please the Dark Lord, Draco," Severus said. "You've yet to meet him. Any loyalty you feel toward him is second-hand, impressed upon you by your father or-" Severus took great care not to hesitate. "-myself-"

"But I know what he stands for," Draco said. "And I know what the world that he hopes to create looks like."

 _And you would find it an ugly, intolerable world,_ Severus thought. Draco had to know that. So was he lying? Severus didn't think he was, and why would he lie to Severus anyway?

"That's more than enough of an incentive, I think," Draco continued, "at least to start with. And once I do meet the Dark Lord… if he's like everyone says, then I expect sustaining my choice will be easy." His expression was set. He'd decided, Severus realised. Whatever the purpose of this meeting was, it wasn't because Draco wanted approval or guidance. "I've- the idea of being a spy is still fairly new to me, I'll admit that much. But I've been thinking about things, about the possibility of a war when the Dark Lord returns for a while now, and wondering where my place will be in it if there is one. Now I know."

 _No,_ Severus wanted to say. _What about the scar on your palm, and all of the other things I've taught you? What about your friends?_ He wanted to shake his godson until he saw sense, or sit him down and talk to him until he changed his mind. But the distrust warned him not to, warned him that Draco might tell Lucius or Narcissa, or might have his thoughts examined by the Dark Lord. He was disgusted with himself for thinking such things, but held his true thoughts in all the same.

"And here we all were fearing your Sorting would hold you back and stop you from finding your place at the Dark Lord's side," Severus said instead, and hated himself for it.

"Because of Potter?" Draco asked.

"He's hardly known for his love of the Dark Lord," Severus said, arching an eyebrow to remind Draco of that fact. "Surely in three years of his company, you've realised as much." Draco rolled his eyes, but there was no guilt in them, no hesitation in his expression. "He'll hate you for this, you realise," Severus continued, unable to help himself. "Look at Black and Pettigrew."

"Oh, Potter would agonise over it if he knew," Draco agreed, with a rather twisted smile. "But I don't intend for him to ever find out, so I don't imagine it'll be an issue." His expression spasmed. "And don't compare me to Wormtail." Severus' own mouth twitched at that, before he could help himself, and Draco's did as well. Then, the rest of what Draco had said slowly sank in and Severus' smile soured. He didn't feel like he'd ever smile again.

Draco's smile vanished too.

"Have I done something wrong?" Draco asked, sounding uncertain for the first time. "You seem… displeased."

 _Do I_? Severus wanted to snarl.

"It's merely a lot to take in," Severus said instead, keeping his voice smooth. "Unexpected, but-" Severus was going to have to lie. "-certainly not unwelcome." He watched Draco's face for any sign that he'd noticed, but he didn't seem to have. Severus didn't know whether to despair or feel smug. When Draco smiled, Severus decided not to feel either of those things, and felt anger start to boil in his chest. "Now," he said, voice more curt than he'd hoped, "if you'll excuse me…"

"Do you have to go?" Draco was visibly disappointed, and Severus felt warmed by that, then shoved the feeling away.

"Yes," Severus said.

"I'd really hoped to talk a bit longer…" Draco gave him a hopeful look. "Not about this, but about-"

"That won't be possible today," Severus said stiffly.

"Oh," Draco said. He looked confused, but not upset, and helped himself to Floo powder. He tossed it into the fireplace. "Can I come and see you again this week?"

"Perhaps, but I'm quite busy," Severus said.

"Oh," Draco said again. "Well… good bye, then, sir. Malfoy Manor." The fire gathered him up and he vanished.

"Good bye, Draco," Severus said to his empty office, the words catching in his throat a little. Then, he doused the fire with a vicious _Aguamenti_ , and kicked the nearest wall so hard he splintered the end of his wooden foot.

* * *

 **Hi all,**

 **Just a short notice from me letting you know I will be taking a short break between this chapter and the next one because I have a lot coming up in the next few weeks; I intend to publish chapter 2 (unnamed as of yet) on the 15th of May. After that, I will be able to get back to fortnightly updates. :)**

 **MarauderLover7.**


	2. The Summer Holidays

"Sir." Hydrus raised his eyebrow the way Lucius might, but Severus thought the gesture lacked the impact Lucius' would have had. "To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit?"

Draco, passing through the foyer behind Hydrus, glanced their way, and then stopped. June had become July and July had become August since that fateful day in Severus' office where Draco had revealed his plans to become a spy for the Dark Lord. Draco had stretched an inch or two taller in that time, his chin and cheekbones had grown sharper, and his hair, while not gelled back they way Hydrus' always was, was neatly styled. He looked older, and more like Lucius Malfoy's son than he had in a long time. These details were not what made Severus stare, though - it was the fact that when Draco noticed him, he practically _beamed_. The elder Malfoy boy cleared his throat, eyebrow climbing higher.

"Mr Malfoy," Severus said, dragging his attention away from Draco. "I wish to speak to your mother and father, if they're home."

Hydrus stepped back, pulling the door wide enough for Severus to enter.

"I'll take you to Father's study, if you'd like, Severus." Draco had waited, it seemed. His expression was neutral again, tone polite. Severus hoped Hydrus might argue with Draco and say he ought to escort Severus, since he'd been the one to open the door, but he didn't:

"You'll have to talk to Father at some point, you know."

"Not today," Draco replied. Hydrus curled his lip, then glanced at Severus.

"I'll inform them of your arrival."

"Thank you." Hydrus swept past Draco and upstairs.

"You and Lucius are no longer on speaking terms?" he asked. A sudden hope flared in him at the thought, and Severus was careful to keep it from showing in his expression.

"Hydrus believes we're still at each other's throats after the hippogriff incident." Draco's voice was soft so it wouldn't carry through the Manor, his eyes on his brother's retreating back. "Mother, Father, and I felt it was for the best." Severus' hope withered. Then, still quietly, Draco said, "It's nice to see you again, sir." He offered Severus a small smile that Severus couldn't return.

"Likewise," he said briskly. Draco's expression closed over.

"Busy holidays?"

 _Why haven't I visited, you mean._

"Extremely," Severus said. "Shall we?" He gestured at the hallway, and Draco turned and led the way to Lucius' office. When they arrived, Draco didn't leave as Severus had hoped; he came inside with Severus and perched on the edge of Lucius' desk. His body language was comfortable, making it clear he'd been spending a lot of time in the office of late; in the past, it had been strictly off limits to both Malfoy boys unless they were specifically invited inside, and both had always been rather nervous whenever they were. Draco shifted an inkwell and the heavy stamp Lucius used to decorate the wax seal on his more secretive letters to give himself more room.

"You needn't wait," Severus said. "I'm sure they'll be down shortly."

"My summer's been fine," Draco said. "Thank you for asking." Severus gave him an unimpressed look. Draco raised an eyebrow in reply, with far more impact that Hydrus' earlier attempt. "I've been here the whole time, obviously, except for my visit to you at the end of June. Potter, Weasley and Granger have been writing letters so I don't get too lonely, but otherwise I've been doing a lot of reading and spending a lot of time in my own head."

"I see," Severus said. "We'll have to resume your lessons when term begins, and see how your Occlumency's coming along." He didn't want to; if Draco was resolute in his decision to become a spy, then any further lessons would only make Draco a better tool for the Dark Lord to exploit. On the other hand, both Draco and the Dark Lord would surely find it suspicious if Severus ended the lessons the moment Draco declared his allegiance. Lessons would also give Severus a plausible excuse to dig around in Draco's mind. Perhaps, if he could find what had caused his sudden desire to serve the Dark Lord, Severus would know how to go about changing his mind…

"Looking forward to it," Draco said, after a moment. Severus didn't think he was lying, but otherwise didn't know what to make of his expression or his tone. "We're off to the Quidditch World Cup next week," he said after another moment, though Severus hadn't asked. "I'm looking forward to that. And sometime in the week following that I daresay we'll be off to Diagon Alley to retrieve our school supplies."

"I see."

"Severus," Lucius strode into the office with Narcissa behind him. "What an unexpected pleasure." Severus nodded to him, and to Narcissa, who didn't see it; she was glancing between Severus and Draco with sharp eyes. "Leave us, Draco."

Draco glanced at Severus, almost as if hoping he would protest, or invite him to stay. Severus met his stare and said nothing. Draco's expression went blank again and he slid off the desk.

"Mother, Father. Severus." He pulled the door shut behind him.

"I've heard of what he is to do," Severus said, once Draco's footsteps had faded away. "And I do not think him ready for such a task."

"We know," Narcissa said, taking him utterly by surprise; she, after all, was the one that had asked him to ensure Draco was ready for such a thing, when the time came for him to make a choice.

"Oh?" Severus said eloquently.

"Draco has kept us informed of his conversations with you," Lucius said.

"Do tell," Severus said. He took care to ensure his tone was smooth and a little wary, like he knew exactly what they were talking about. Draco had sent two letters after their conversation at the end of June that Severus had ignored, and Draco hadn't sent any since. Severus had kept himself holed up at Spinner's End where Draco couldn't reach him by Floo, and they'd not spoken again until that morning. As such, Severus was rather interested to hear more about these conversations he and Draco had apparently had.

"The Dark Lord remains uninformed about Draco's future involvement," Lucius said, rather grimly. Severus couldn't keep his expression smooth, but he was able to control it enough to ensure it looked questioning, rather than surprised. "Your point to Draco was a… reasonable one. Spies are not created overnight. He was… unimpressed by your suggestion that he currently lacks the skill and the resolve he'll need to succeed in this - _quite_ unimpressed _-_ but you're right, of course." Lucius' hand went - perhaps unconsciously - to his left sleeve. "The Dark Lord has plans this year. There is a possibility he would work Draco into them if he knew of Draco's decision, either to use him genuinely, or perhaps just to test him. Draco's current conviction is strong, but it is also impulsive - a Gryffindor's conviction. He's committed himself to this path believing he knows the risks and the realities, but knowing and _seeing_ are two entirely different things."

"The Gryffindors may see through him," Narcissa said. "Or Dumbledore, or Sirius. Or his resolve may falter when he's back at school, surrounded by his little friends again. The Dark Lord would not be forgiving of either."

"No," Severus said, rather redundantly. He felt he had to say _something_ , though.

"We're giving him a year," Lucius said. "To learn to lie, and hide his thoughts from Dumbledore or anyone else that might try to read them, and - though we hope it won't come to it - time to slip up, or change his mind before he's properly involved."

"Not that Draco will be told any of this," Narcissa said. "As far as he's concerned, he's already involved. Lucius will collect any relevant information he's able to gather and pass it on to the Dark Lord - but not as Draco's information. Lucius will set him tasks to complete too - tests. He will not be told about any of the Dark Lord's true plans until we are certain he is able to keep them to himself."

"The Dark Lord will see the sense in this, I'm sure," Lucius said.

It was better than Severus could have hoped for. He'd come today out of desperation, hoping to buy himself more time to work out what to do about Draco. He'd been planning to propose Christmas as a deadline, and had expected to have to fight for even that.

"You approve, then?" Narcissa's voice was light, but her eyes were sharp as ever.

"I do," Severus said. "I had… reservations when Draco first came to me with his plans. This conversation has put my mind at ease."

"What I don't understand," Narcissa said, eyes still flinty, "is why you didn't come to us with these reservations sooner, Severus. It's been over a month since Draco made his decision, and all we've heard from you on the matter is what Draco's seen fit to pass on, or, rather, complain about." She and Lucius shared a look that verged on long-suffering; clearly, Draco had been quite vocal about these thoughts that Severus apparently had.

"I feared our Lord's displeasure," Severus said. "I had assumed he already knew of Draco's newfound allegiance. To question Draco's readiness - to anyone other than Draco, that is - would have been to question the Dark Lord himself, and I did not feel confident enough in my standing with him to do so. The last time we met, he gave me this." He gestured to his fake leg. "I have not grown more confident in my standing with him in the time since, but my concern for Draco was too great to allow me to keep quiet any longer. It… relieves me to learn I am not alone in this."

Lucius looked relieved as well - doubtless because another of the Dark Lord's followers supported his plan - and nodded. Narcissa's expression was cool, considering.

She showed him out of the office, pausing in the corridor to rest a hand on his arm. Severus glanced at her.

"Your ability to put Draco first is why I came to you all those years ago," she said, voice barely more than a breath. " _Never_ think I will condemn you for continuing to do so." Severus nodded jerkily and pulled his arm free- or tried to. She held firm, expression fierce. "You'll know better than any of us whether he's ready at the end of the year. You're around him at school, you have Dumbledore's ear, and more than that, you know your godson. If he's not ready, you need to tell me so that I can send him away."

Narcissa was a mother, emotional, weak - or at least, the Dark Lord would label her as such and because of that, forgive her for what she'd said if he were ever to learn of it. Severus would not be so lucky, and so there was really only one answer he could give:

"He'll be ready."

* * *

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley bustled over to brush the soot from his shoulders and the straps of his rucksack, then pulled him into a tight hug. "My goodness, you've grown again - you're almost as bad as Ron; I swear every time I turn my back, he shoots up another inch."

"Padfoot reckons Kreacher's feeding me too much," Harry said, grinning.

"In my experience," Mrs Weasley said, eyes sparkling, "it's not possible to feed a fourteen year old boy too much." She turned suddenly, flicking her wand at the stove, and the pot bubbling there glowed yellow. "Speaking of, dinner'll be in about an hour, once Hermione gets here - a nice early one, so you can all get to bed on time, ready for the morning."

"Brilliant." Harry adjusted his rucksack. "Thanks again for letting me stay, and travel with you-"

"It's no trouble at all," Mrs Weasley said fondly. "Now, why don't you head upstairs and get settled-"

Harry heard footsteps and a heartbeat, then caught the faint scent of flowers a moment before Ginny bounded into the kitchen:

"Harry!" He smiled at her.

"Is your room clean?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"It's fine," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"Ginny-"

"Yes! I just tidied it." Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry when Mrs Weasley wasn't looking. "And put out a bed for Hermione," she added, before Mrs Weasley could say anything else. "Ron's upstairs in Bill and Charlie's room, if you're looking for him." Harry trailed out of the kitchen after her. Bill and Charlie were here at the moment - both Ron and Ginny had mentioned in their letters that they'd be coming to the World Cup with them - and their presence explained the unfamiliar scents on the stairs; Harry'd only met Charlie once - at Moony and Dora's wedding - and he hadn't ever met Bill.

They passed a window on the oddly quiet second floor landing; Fred and George's door was shut, and none of the normal bubbling or crackling or tinkling noises were audible behind it. Nor could Harry hear the twins' usual laughter.

As if on cue, a faint, familiar cackle drifted in through the open window, and Harry spotted four figures on brooms in the distant orchard. He'd been on a team with Fred and George long enough to be able to recognise them in the air, but he didn't know the other two, and ruled them out as friends of the twins when he saw the red hair.

"Bill and Charlie?" he asked, and Ginny glanced past him and nodded.

"So why's Ron…?"

"No idea," Ginny said, scowling. "Everyone here's a bit weird at the moment - the twins have been holed up in their room a lot, and really quiet - except for now, apparently - Percy's hardly here at all, and then Bill and Charlie _are_ here and _they're_ not weird, but it's sort of weird all being under the same roof again…"

Ginny led the way up to the third floor, then stopped and held a finger up to her lips. Harry slowed and watched her tiptoe across the landing to a slightly ajar door beside the bathroom that Harry had always assumed hid a linen cupboard. At her gesture, Harry crept across to join her.

There was a muffled thump inside the room a moment before Ginny flung the door open.

"Harry!" Ron said. He was standing in the narrow space between two twin beds with empty hands and a sheepish scent. Ginny huffed.

"Hey," Harry said bemusedly.

"When'd you get here?"

"I've been here all summer," Ginny said.

"I wasn't talking to you," Ron muttered. She pulled a face at him, but was looking curiously around the room, clearly trying to work out what Ron might have been doing.

Harry looked around too, and then couldn't look away - like the rest of the Burrow, Bill and Charlie's room was a little cramped, but bursting with character; the bed on the right was unmade, had a vine of some sort growing above the headboard, and was surrounded by Quidditch posters, and photographs and sketches of various magical creatures - with dragons being the clear favourite. The desk against the wall opposite supported three empty wire cages, one empty tank, another plant, and a stack of yellowing newspapers.

The bed on the left was neatly made - or would have been, if not for the Ron-shaped indent on the edge of it - with a bursting bookshelf set into the wall beside it, and a bit of parchment with a very complicated drawing of a circle above it. The desk opposite that bed was also neat and held a small wooden box carved with runes, a rack of phials that looks like they held various different types of sands, stones and woods, more complicated drawings, and several spindly silver instruments that looked like they ought to be in Dumbledore's office.

"No idea what they do," Ron said, reaching out to touch the delicately balanced arm of one. It made a soft dinging sound, like a tiny bell, then - Harry wasn't entirely sure how - folded itself into a cube. Ron studied his finger, an oddly thoughtful expression on his face.

"What've you been doing in here?" Ginny had just enough chagrin in her scent for Harry to know she must have asked before and had no luck in finding out.

"None of your business, nosy," Ron said.

"I bet Harry's curious too, aren't you, Harry?" Ginny turned and gave him a pleasant look. He was, but for Ron's sake he just shrugged. Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"Fine," she said, and stalked out. Harry watched her go.

"She's not actually mad, is she?" he asked; Ginny wasn't the type to hold back, so he thought he'd know if she was, but still…

"Nah," Ron said. "Just trying to make us feel bad so we'll tell her." He tugged Harry's rucksack off Harry's shoulder and slung it over his own, heading out onto the landing.

"So what _were_ you doing?" Harry asked, following Ron upstairs. There was a moment of silence, just long enough that he thought Ron might not answer. Then:

"Reading." Ron's tone was reluctant. If it weren't for his scent - a mixture of embarrassment and discomfort - Harry might have thought he was joking. When Harry didn't immediately say anything, Ron's shoulders went stiff and his scent turned defensive, like he was expecting Harry to take the mickey.

"Okay," Harry said. Then, before he could help himself: " _Why?_ "

The uncomfortable scent was back.

"Just... it's interesting."

"Well, yeah, I s'pose," Harry said. "For fun, or for homework or something?"

"It's not for homework," Ron said. He pushed open his bedroom door and the familiar orange of the walls greeted Harry. It was much the same as it had been the last time he was here - only about a week ago - but a new poster of Bulgaria's Viktor Krum had gone up above Ron's dresser. "I just… I'm sick of being useless, and curse breakers have to be really good at spells and magic and stuff, so I thought I'd see if Bill had any books that might be useful." He set Harry's rucksack down by the camp bed and flopped down onto his own.

"You're not useless."

"Well, I feel it sometimes," Ron said, staring up at the ceiling. "Figured I'd try and do something about it."

"Right," Harry said. He kicked off his shoes and settled on his own bed. "Well, if you want books, Grimmauld's got thousands. Padfoot wouldn't mind - he lets Hermione borrow them. She'd probably be able to tell you what ones are worth reading, too. Or if it's spells and stuff, Padfoot or Moony or Dora or Marlene'd probably be able to teach-"

"No," Ron said. "Books, maybe, but not the rest. I just- I want to give it a go on my own. For now, anyway."

"Is that why you don't want Ginny knowing?"

"Nah." Ron grinned. "It's just fun watching her try to work it out."

"And Hermione and Draco?"

"I talked to Malfoy a bit about it before the holidays," Ron said. "But not since, so he probably reckons I've forgotten or got over it. I haven't told Hermione. She'd never shut up about it if she found out I was reading in my spare time - she'd want to start a book club, where we could go over what we'd learned, and- well, she's brilliant; she'd just show me up the whole time, which'd sort of defeat the point of it all." Ron grinned in a self-deprecating sort of way.

"Draco and I could come too," Harry offered. "And we could deliberately not read the book beforehand, so you'd definitely be better than us." Ron snorted and threw a pillow at him. Harry tossed it back. "Have you heard from him lately? Draco, I mean."

"Yeah, yesterday." Ron rolled over and waved a hand at the messy desk. "I didn't bother writing back because we'll see him tomorrow, though. You?"

"Yeah, this morning," Harry said. "Do you think it's weird that the Malfoys are letting him write these holidays?"

"A bit, yeah," Ron said, as he had the other hundred times Harry had asked that question that summer. "Definitely unexpected, after everything with Buckbeak, but who knows how purebloods think…"

"You're a pureblood."

"Not a good one," Ron said. "Blood traitor, remember?"

"They're the best sort." Ron snorted, then straightened a little, peering out the window. "What?" Harry asked, unable to see anything from his bed on the floor.

"Hermione's here." Ron said. He laughed a little and scrambled to his feet. "Bloody hell, I hope it's her - Fred and George just swooped the car-"

Harry scrambled to join him at the window. Bill - or at least Harry assumed it was Bill, since he was fairly sure the stockier flying figure was Charlie - was shouting at the twins from his broom. They were hovering a few feet to the side of the Grangers' silver car; thankfully it was the Grangers - Harry recognised their faces through the front windscreen. The twins seemed to be enjoying themselves despite Bill's attempts to tell them off, and were waving and pulling faces at the back seat window - presumably where Hermione sat until-

" _FRED! GEORGE_!"


	3. The Campsite

"It would help-" Ron yawned into his sleeve. "-if we knew what we were looking for…" Harry nodded, scanning the damp grass half-heartedly; his eyes weren't all that good in the daylight, let alone the dimness of the early morning countryside. Hermione seemed to have recovered from from the climb up Stoatshead Hill - she was quiet now, and so still Harry half wondered if she'd dozed off standing up. A sleepy looking Ginny nudged her, and she twitched and joined the search.

"Aha!" Fred called, hoisting an empty beer bottle into the air. "Found it!"

"Brilliant!" George went to join him. Before Harry could take more than a few steps in their direction, Fred made a revolted sound and flung the bottle away, while George doubled over, laughing.

"False alarm," Fred sighed. "Keep looking, everyone."

"Over here, Ced, I've found it!" a man's voice called from somewhere beyond the crest of the hill.

"Amos?" Mr Weasley adjusted his pack and waved at everyone to follow.

"Morning, Arthur!" Two tall figures joined them atop the hill, wearing - as Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys did, rucksacks. As they drew nearer, Harry recognised Cedric first, then his father. Mr Diggory was holding a worn boot in one hand and reached out to shake Mr Weasley's hand with his other when he was near enough. Over his shoulder, Cedric smiled at Harry and gave a small wave. "Long walk for you lot?"

"Not too far, thankfully," Mr Weasley said. "We're just over that way."

"We've been up since two," Mr Diggory said. "I'll be glad once Ced can apparate, but I suppose the early start's all part of the experience."

"Everyone," Mr Weasley said, "this is Amos Diggory, from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Mr Diggory, who Harry had met the year before when he came to collect Winky the house elf from Hogwarts, nodded and smiled around at them all. "And you must be Cedric?" Mr Weasley offered Cedric his hand, then gestured to the others. Fred and George gave Cedric rather brittle smiles - they'd held a grudge for a while after Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor in a Quidditch match last year, but Cedric was rather difficult to dislike, and Fred and George had both had opportunities to get even with him in Moody's duelling club. "I imagine you already know this lot. Amos, this is Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione."

"Well, I know Harry Potter, of course-"

"Doesn't everyone?" George muttered. Ginny elbowed him.

"-we had a bit of a house elf situation last year, didn't we?" Mr Diggory continued, not seeming to have heard. "And, of course, you play Seeker against my Cedric. Give him a bit of a run for his money, or so I've heard."

"Er, yeah," Harry said.

"But less so at duelling club; even being raised by an Auror's not quite enough to top natural ability-"

"So that's the portkey is it, Amos?" Mr Weasley interjected. Harry shot him a grateful look and got a small smile in return.

"Oh- yes," Mr Diggory said, lifting the boot. "We're not waiting on anyone else, I don't think...?"

"The Lovegoods?"

"They're already there," Ginny said, through a yawn.

"And the Fawcetts aren't coming at all. If there are any others in the area, I don't know of them, and they're going to miss it anyway." Amos checked his watch, nodded, and held the portkey out. They squeezed in, with a lot of apologies and getting tangled in the loose straps of each other's rucksacks. Harry ended up between Cedric and Mr Weasley.

"Sorry about dad," Cedric muttered. "He's a bit…"

"It's fine," Harry said back. "Good summer?" He wriggled further forward and managed to get a finger on the boot. Fred and George reached in at the same time, knocked their heads together, and swore.

"Boys!"

"Spent it doing homework, mostly," Cedric said with a grimace. He stretched his arm out and pinched one of the boot's laces. "Got N.E.W.T.s coming up, so I thought I'd get a head start. You?"

"Bit of homework, bit of flying," Harry said. "Lots of time with my family and friends, too-"

"Fourth years," Cedric said, with a wistful shake of his head. Harry grinned.

"Three," Mr Weasley said, peering awkwardly into the middle of everyone to try to read his watch. "...two… one."

And Harry was yanked away.

He lost his footing at the other end, landing sprawled on the grass by Fred, and Cedric's trainers. He, Mr Diggory, and Mr Weasley all managed to keep their feet. Ron almost did, until Hermione toppled into him and the pair of them toppled onto George.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," a voice announced.

* * *

He'd expected Potter to be much harder to find, so, when less than an hour after he'd finished setting up, a flash caught his eyes and he looked over to see Potter, glasses glinting in the sunrise, walking between a lanky redhead and a girl trying to coax her mass of brown hair into a braid, Dmitri could barely believe his good luck.

He stood, stretched, pulled his old Dumstrang jumper on over his head, then headed after Potter.

* * *

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" a familiar voice said, and Harry spun, already smiling before he'd even worked out where Padfoot was. He was dressed in his official Auror robes, and had a bemused sort of look on his face. His eyes were on the pot in Harry's hands, then on the battered kettle in Ron's, and then the small pile of firewood Hermione was holding.

"Water," Harry said.

"Yes, Harry, I can see that," Padfoot said, coming close enough to ruffle Harry's hair, clap Ron on the back, and give Hermione's shoulders a squeeze. "But why are you lugging it across the campsite when you've got a perfectly good wand?"

"Because using his perfectly good wand would be breaching the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery." Robards stepped up beside Padfoot and gave him an exasperated look. "And as an Auror, you should not be endorsing that."

"I'm not endorsing it, it was a test," Padfoot said. "And you passed, Harry, well done." Robards snorted. "Moony and Dora here yet?"

"They weren't when we left," Harry said.

"Ma-" Robards nudged Padfoot and tilted his head to the side; Harry followed the gesture and saw a pair of witches making some sort of trade, in a manner they obviously thought was covert; one took a small phial of silvery pink liquid, and the other took a small purse. Padfoot and Robards exchanged a look. "I'll get the dealer." Robards slipped away, after the witch who'd taken the phial. "Fourth bloody love potion we've seen this morning," Padfoot said, already drawing his wand and backing up. "Whereabouts are you set up - I'll see if I can drop by before the match-"

"Back across the field," Harry said. Ron pointed.

"Sites 4C and 4D," Hermione said, shuffling the bundle in her arms so she could show Padfoot the map. "Just there."

"Brilliant." Padfoot backed up a little further, lifting his wand. "Oi! You in the Bulgaria scarf! No, not you, mate, her- yes, madam, you!"

Harry hefted hefted his pot and he, Ron, and Hermione continued on their way.

They made it across the field, but only just; they lost Ron for a few minutes when he was swept up by a rowdy bunch of equally red-headed Ireland supporters, then, there was the beater's bat incident; a woman was trying to explain to her children that they were dangerous and not toys and almost made her point a little too well when she almost took Hermione's head off with it.

Then, Harry was recognised by a Witch Weekly reporter who wanted a photo and to ask him "just a few questions, love". Thankfully, Ron's quick thinking saved Harry from having to sit through either of those things:

"What's Viktor Krum doing over there?" he said, pointing to a dark-haired man murmuring to a woman beside a simple canvas tent. "Shouldn't he be at the pitch already?"

"Who's Viktor Krum?" Hermione asked, stepping out of the way of the reporter as she took off.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, he's only one of the best Quidditch players in the world!" Ron said. His outrage was somewhat muted by his obvious satisfaction as he watched the reporter charge away.

"Hermione's not the only one who doesn't know who he is, at least," Harry said; the reporter was now talking to the couple - both of whom looked rather confused.

Ron sniggered, then gave Harry a nudge: "Come on, before she comes back."

They'd barely gone another row when Hermione stopped. Her hands were full, but she flared her elbows in a warning sort of way. Harry stumbled a little and the water in the pot he was carrying sloshed around, some spilling down the front of his jumper and into his trainers, some splashing onto Hermione's back. She didn't even flinch. Ron, thankfully, managed to stop before he ploughed into the both of them. A few people muttered, annoyed that they were in the way, but most just squeezed around.

"Hermione-?"

"Look who it is," she said darkly. Harry followed her nod to the carefully styled blond head in front of them, groaned, and shuffled back a few steps; Hydrus was standing outside an enormous, overly extravagant striped silk tent with his back to them. He was still, staring around at the busy campsite, and it was possible he was just taking it all in - the red and the green of the tents and the flags and the general bustle of the morning - but Harry thought it more likely that he was waiting for an opportunity to be rude to some undeserving passersby.

"Peacocks?" Ron muttered in disgust; there were three of them tethered to the entrance of the tent, and as Harry looked, Hydrus waved a hand to shoo one that had taken an interest in his shoelace. "Still, if he's there, our Malfoy probably can't be far, right?"

"Right," Harry said. He eyed the tent. "D'you reckon we could just poke our heads in and see if he's there?" It probably wouldn't end well, but they hadn't seen Draco all summer. If he was in there...

"Here lies Harry," Ron said in a grave voice. "It wasn't V-Voldemort that got him in the end, it was three albino peacocks…" Hermione snorted a laugh.

Either Hydrus heard her, or it was just bad luck that he turned when he did. Harry scowled - an automatic response - but only for about a second before he properly looked at him and realised-

"Draco?!" Hermione was the first of them to recover, dropped her firewood, and rushed forward to throw her arms around him. One of the peacocks hissed - knowing the Malfoys, it could probably smell that Hermione was muggleborn - and Draco half-lifted, half-dragged her out of its reach. "It's so good to see you!"

"Why are you all wet?" he asked, releasing her, and wiping his hands on his trousers. "And why were you two scowling instead of throwing yourselves at me too - haven't you missed me?" His voice was playful, but there was genuine hurt in his scent, and… anxiety?

"We saw the hair and thought you were Hydrus," Harry said, grimacing. "Sorry." He hugged Draco as best he could around the pot, and Draco's scent settled.

"I suppose that's your excuse too, Weasley?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

"Nah," Ron said. "I just needed Hermione to hold this-" He passed her the kettle and got a confused look in return. "-so I could throw myself on you properly." He lunged forward. Draco had grown that summer - he was roughly of a height with Harry - but still several inches shorter than Ron, and Harry saw him realise that; his expression went from lofty and playful to vaguely panicked.

Ron, who hadn't taken any steps other than that single, dramatic one, laughed at the look on his face.

"Hilarious," Draco muttered, as Ron stepped forward - calmly - and hugged him.

"How's your summer been?" Hermione passed Ron the kettle and bent to gather up the firewood she'd dropped.

"Fine," Draco said, shrugging. It wasn't a lie, but he was leaving something out; Harry could smell it. Draco's eyes flicked to Harry, as if he'd realised the same. He looked away again, kneeling to help Hermione.

"I know we've been writing, but it's not the same," Hermione was saying. "We've been so worried about you-"

"If we need to worry about anyone, Granger, it'd be you…" Draco's tone was exasperated, but his scent was worried. "But I'm hoping the fact that you're here means your parents are going to let you come back to school?"

"I think so," Hermione said, and pursed her lips. Her scent clearly said she wasn't keen to talk about it, and her expression was rather foreboding too.

"Well, well." Hydrus - and it was actually him this time - stepped out of the tent and took in the sight of Draco and Hermione kneeling on the ground. "Collecting twigs for your new dam, Granger?" He pushed his teeth forward over his lip, apparently wanting to be sure he'd made his point.

Much as Harry didn't want to see Mr Malfoy, it was probably a good thing he stepped out when he did; if he'd taken even a moment longer, Harry thought Ron would have thrown his kettle at Hydrus. Hermione straightened, and her expression, which had been furious and a little hurt after Hydrus' comment, turned stony. Ron was openly scowling, knuckles white around the handle of the kettle. Draco hadn't moved from the ground, his expression defiant, scent nervous. Hydrus' scent turned gleeful.

A look passed between Draco and his father, then, Draco stiffened, glanced at Harry, and stood.

"I'll see you at the match," he said, and pushed past his father and brother into the tent. Harry smelled panic in his wake. Harry took a step after him without thinking, but one of the peacocks tried to peck him and he didn't think Mr Malfoy was likely to let him past anyway. Mr Malfoy's lips thinned, and he turned without saying anything, and strode after Draco. Harry set his jaw.

"Off you go," Ron said to Hydrus, nodding at the tent.

"I don't take instructions from your sort, Weasley," Hydrus said. "Why don't you leave."

"All right," Ron said. "Come on Harry, Hermione." And he left, with far more dignity than Hermione, who gave Hydrus a withering look, then turned on her heel, or Harry, who ignored Hydrus in favour of looking at the tent flap and wondering what had frightened Draco. Hydrus' comment clearly had the effect he wanted; when Harry left to trail after the other two, Hydrus was sulking and surrounded by peacocks.

The Weasleys' campsite was far busier than when they'd left it; Bill, Charlie and Percy had arrived, Ginny and the twins were properly awake, and between them, they'd pitched the tents, and put benches up around the large pile of wood Mr Weasley was trying unsuccessfully to light. He had a small pile of smoldering matches beside him, but neither that, Fred and George's sniggers, or Percy's sighs seemed able to diminish his enthusiasm.

"Are you sure you don't just want me to light it, Dad?" Charlie asked, showing Hermione where to put her firewood, as Bill got up to relieve Harry of his pot. "It'd be a lot faster-"

"No," Mr Weasley said. "Thank you, Charlie, but you boys did the tents, Percy's done the benches, and Fred and George and Ginny did the wood, so this can be my contribution." He struck a match, and then dropped it in surprise when a loud voice called out:

"Wotcher!"

"Tonks!"

"That's Lupin to you, Weasley," Dora said. She was dressed all in green for Ireland - her skin even had a green glow to it - although her hair was a sandy brown. Moony - carrying both of their rucksacks - was walking along in the wake she and her enormous belly had made. He had a green scarf on, but otherwise was dressed normally.

"You're glowing," Bill said, looking uncertain. Dora scowled, but Moony grinned.

"For three days, now," he said. "Although she was glowing yellow and not green until this morning."

"The baby's been making it a harder to control everything," Dora said, holding up one faintly luminescent hand. "My hair's been like this for weeks." Percy shuffled along the bench to make room for her beside Charlie.

"She had webbed fingers and toes one day last week," Harry said, grinning. "And then on Friday-"

"Not another word, Harry," she said warningly, "unless you want- Oof!" She pressed a hand to her stomach, and gave it an accusatory look. "And you can shut up too," she told it, with a good natured scowl. "It's got Remus' sense of humour - I swear the kid spends its whole time laughing in there." She and Moony shared a soft look.

"Have you thought about names?" Arthur asked, still struggling with the fire.

"A bit," Moony said. "But we haven't decided on anything…"

"Well," Fred said, "if you're looking for suggestions, Fred's good for a boy. And there's Georgia, or Georgina for a girl…" Moony chuckled.

"What about Arnold?" Ginny said. "I've always liked that." Harry snorted at the same time as Bill, Ron, and Percy did. Dora's eyes widened and Harry saw her hands spread protectively over her stomach, as if to shield the baby inside from Ginny's suggestion.

"It's better than Elvendork," Harry said, glancing at Moony. "Padfoot's suggestion," Harry explained, for the others' benefit. Hermione mouthed 'Elvendork' with a disbelieving look on her face. Ginny looked alarmingly thoughtful.

"It's unisex," Moony muttered, without much enthusiasm, and he and Dora shared a long suffering look.


	4. Ireland And Bulgaria

The seats Mr Weasley had managed to procure for the World Cup were fantastic; they were in the Top Box, and, once Harry had borne a dozen handshakes with various Ministry staff including Fudge, Sprottle, Sprottle's assistant Pemberley, a writer from _Quidditch Quarterl_ y whose name Harry didn't catch, and then also the Bulgarian Minister for Magic and some of his staff, Harry was finally allowed to claim his seat.

He ended up between Ginny and Hermione, but that was short lived; Ron, who'd been at the end, on Hermione's other side, made her swap with him:

"Well, no, you don't have to," Ron said, when she'd frowned and folded her arms, "but if you stay there, you'll have to deal with me and Harry leaning over you to talk Quidditch..." Her eyes flicked between them, and her mouth twitched.

"All right," she said, gathering up her omnioculars and program, and shuffling down a bit.

"You're the best!" A grinning Ron flung himself down into the seat beside Harry. "This is going to be brilliant!"

Harry agreed. From up where they were, he could see almost the entire stadium, the hundred thousand brightly coloured witches and wizards that filled it, and, of course, the bright green pitch.

Harry could only find two faults with their seats. The first was that Padfoot, Moony, Dora, and Marlene would not be sitting with them; Padfoot was working, obviously, and would be walking the stadium rather than sitting in any one place, Moony said such excellent seats would be wasted on him, Dora admitted she'd be jealous any other time, but was grateful to not have to face the extra stairs, and Marlene - who'd arrived only a few minutes before the match - was just jealous.

The other fault was that they were apparently sharing the box with the Malfoys. Draco's presence was an unexpected pleasure, but Harry could have done without the other three; in fairness, Mrs Malfoy gave Harry a tiny, stiff nod and went to sit down, but Hydrus and Mr Malfoy let Fudge fawn all over them and prattle on about Mr Malfoy's latest donation to St Mungo's. Ginny wore an expression even frostier than Mrs Malfoy's, and clasped her white-knuckled hands in her lap until Bill - who was seated on her other side - noticed her distraction and drew her into a conversation about something in the program. Mr Weasley hardly looked much happier - as soon as Fudge had been distracted, Harry heard Mr Malfoy ask Mr Weasley what he'd had to sell to afford seats in the Top Box - but he allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation with Fudge, Sprottle, Percy, and Mr Malfoy anyway. Much as Harry disliked Mr Malfoy for asking such a question, Harry found himself wondering too; he knew Bagman had offered Mr Weasley the seats, and Harry and Hermione had paid Mr Weasley back for theirs, but the rest still wouldn't have come cheap.

It was something of a relief when Fudge and the Malfoys sat down. They were in the row behind Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, and, while Mr and Mrs Malfoy and Hydrus ended up behind Fred, Charlie and Percy, Draco had a brief exchange with his mother and made his uncertain way to very end seat behind Hermione's. Hydrus glared down at them, and Mr and Mrs Malfoy whispered to each other, glancing toward Draco every so often.

"They won't cause a fuss in front of the Minister," Draco said smugly, but his posture was rather stiff.

"Yeah, but what about after?" Ron said. "Obviously we want you here, but we're not worth getting in trouble over, mate-"

"Don't worry yourself, Weasley," Draco said, and though he seemed rather calm now, Harry couldn't help but remember how panicked he'd been that morning when Mr Malfoy came out of the tent and saw them all together.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, deciding to voice that very concern. "Because-"

"Everyone ready?" Bagman burst into the box, his face alight. "Minister? Damaris?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge said. Sprottle glanced up from a conversation with Pemberley and gestured her approval.

" _Sonorus_!" Bagman said, then tucked his wand away with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!" A roar of cheers and clapping answered him, and thousands of green and red flags waved around below. "And now, without further ado," Bagman said, "allow me to introduce the Bulgarian National Team mascots!"

* * *

"What are…?" Marlene said, frowning down at the grassy pitch.

"They're veela!" Remus said, leaning forward for a better look. Fleur, a student of his, was one quarter veela, and he'd seen her little sister around once or twice as well, but he'd never seen a full veela before.

Stunning didn't do them justice. Rather absently he wondered, that, if werewolves looked like that whether they would still be as disliked - veela could undergo a rather nasty transformation as well, and yet looking at them now, he couldn't find a single negative thing to think about them. They began to dance, and he took another step closer to the railing, fascinated. "Dora, look!"

She didn't need to be told; it took a serious amount of effort, but when Remus finally managed to turn away from the veela to look at her, Dora was watching the dancing below with interest, one hand bracing her back. Music crept into Remus' ears, crooning at him to turn his eyes back to the veela, and he didn't put up much of a fight, even edged closer for a better look. A warm hand came to rest on his arm, not quite holding him there - not yet - but ready to.

"Easy," Dora said, sounding amused.

"I'm not going anywhere," Remus said. It was a struggle to speak - it seemed almost sacrilegious to speak over the top of the veela's music - and his voice sounded distant, so he turned, again, with effort to face his wife. She was laughing at him now, eyes bright and expression warm, hair a sunny yellow.

"Are you sure? I must look plain and fat compared to that lot." Her eyes twinkled, teasing.

"A little fat," he admitted, rubbing her belly. Marlene, who Remus was only vaguely aware of, moved. "But that's my fault, and I'm rather pleased about it these days, so, no, I'm not going anywhere." She laughed again and he pulled her closer. "Besides, I rather think you'd hunt me down if I tried, and I'm much, much more afraid of you than I am of them." He nodded down at the dancers, who were moving faster now, with a detached sort of interest. The music had grown more persuasive too, and yet somehow, Remus found it only background noise, and easy to ignore.

* * *

A murmur of 'veela' raced around the Top Box, as a hundred pale figures glided out onto the grass below. Harry lifted his omnioculars for a better look.

His first thought was that the veela looked a bit like Mrs Malfoy, but it was a fleeting thought; compared to the veela, Mrs Malfoy was old, her hair dull, her skin sallow. It was impossible to guess the age of the veela, but there wasn't a wrinkle in sight, nor any stiffness in their movements. They had long hair that gleamed like white gold, and they were pale in the way that the moon was pale; radiant and beautiful. They were tall and short, slender and curvy, and Harry found he couldn't fault a single one of them.

Music started and they danced, their movements somehow both graceful and strong all at once, and Harry's mind emptied itself of everything except curiosity about what they would smell like to his wolf-nose. They were the most incredibly beautiful things he'd ever seen - would they smell just as incredible? He had to find out. He eyed the edge of the box, figuring that jumping right over was the fastest way down. They'd probably be pretty impressed by that too, and if they weren't, well, Harry could do some other pretty impressive things; he was an animagus for one, and he could cast a corporeal patronus. And if that wasn't enough, well, he was Harry Potter, so-

"Yes, we know who you are," Hermione said exasperatedly, as if from very far away. "Draco, can you- Ron!"

The music stopped and Harry was suddenly aware of being tugged back into his seat.

"We know who he is, but the veela don't," Ginny said; she was red faced from laughing and Bill was watching Harry with an amused look on his face. Draco sniggered and released Harry. Hermione was trying to wrestle Ron back into the seat beside her - he had a determined look on his face, and looked like he'd about to dive out of the Top Box. On the other side, beyond Bill, Fred and George - who seemed to have been engaged in some sort of wrestling match on the floor - sprang apart, Charlie seemed completely unaffected, and Mr Weasley was patting a dazed-looking Percy on the shoulder. Behind them - and Harry had to feel a little sorry for her - Mrs Malfoy had one hand on Hydrus' shoulder to keep him in his chair, and her other curled into the back of Mr Malfoy's robes; he was on his feet, and seemed to have paused halfway through combing a hand through his hair.

Below them, the crowd's noises had turned distinctly angry; it seemed they didn't want the veela to go. A part of Harry didn't either, but a larger part of him was relieved. Even Wormtail's Imperius hadn't affected him so easily.

"What are they?" Harry asked. He looked to Hermione out of habit, but it was Bill that answered.

"They're magical beings. They…" He paused, apparently looking for the right word. "It's not enchantment, or hypnotism, but that's as good a way as any to describe the effect." He took a look at the discomfited expression on Harry's face and smiled. "Don't feel bad - you're a teenage boy, which makes you very susceptible to veela." Harry wasn't reassured.

"How do you fight it?" Harry asked, as the crowd booed loudly.

"Me personally, or just generally?"

"Both," Harry said. "Either."

"I see a lot of pretty things as a cursebreaker," Bill said, shrugging. "You never stop appreciating them-" His eyes went to the veela, who were making their slow, graceful way off the grass. "-but you learn pretty quickly to keep a cool head and not to touch." He smiled in a wry sort of way. "Speaking more generally… not being interested in women's the most effective, but being in love's meant to help too. Otherwise sensory blocking spells, and occlumency, or you just shut your eyes and cover your ears."

"Are they dangerous?" Harry glanced down at the pitch again. Had Voldemort ever used veela, the way he had werewolves and giants and dementors?

"Probably on par with your average witch," Bill said, shrugging. "Unless you upset them, in which case, run."

"That's true with witches too," Ron said. "Have you met Mum? Or Ginny or Hermione for that matter?"

"Trust me, Ron," Bill said, shaking his head.

Ireland's mascots were next - leprechauns - and they glittered green, white, and gold as they darted around the pitch below, forming the Irish flag, then a golden snitch, then a large trophy, and then, with an explosion not unlike a firework, split off into seven smaller green shapes - the Irish team - and flew around the stadium. When they came together again, it was to form an enormous green shamrock, which soared into the air and began to rain gold.

It was only when the shamrock flew past the Top Box that Harry realised the rain was actually of heavy golden coins, and that there were thousands of them. Several bounced off his head and shoulders, and people down in the stands were snatching them out of the air.

A cheer went up around the stadium - beside Harry, Ron joined in, delightedly scooping up whatever coins were in reach - as the shamrock exploded like a firework and the leprechauns settled down at the edge of the pitch, opposite the veela.

"For the omnioculars," Ron said, shoving a handful of coins at Harry.

"And now," Bagman boomed, "ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!" He rattled off their names as the players flew out to wild applause, then introduced the Irish team.

Harry watched them through his omnioculars. They were all flying Firebolts, he noted, with some envy, and Merlin but they were brilliant broomsticks; Bulgaria's beaters were fair fliers but nothing special, and Ireland's keeper seemed rather stiff on his broom, but the speed that the Firebolts gave them when they needed it… As for the teams' better fliers, it would have been criminal to put them on anything else; Ireland's chasers were quick, agile, and amazingly coordinated, and Krum, Bulgaria's seeker, flew with an ease and comfort Harry had never seen the like of.

"Troy," Bagman said, "Mullet, Moran, Troy- Levski-" One of Bulgaria's Chasers barrelled into Troy and stole the Quaffle. "Ivanova, Levski- Moran-" Moran flew right at Levski, got her hands on the Quaffle, then rolled to the side in the instant they'd have otherwise collided. The Quaffle went with her, and she continued down toward the goals at unbelievable speed.

"I want one," Harry said to Ron.

"You want Moran?" Ron asked, without looking away from the game; Troy had just scored and did a quick lap around the goalposts to celebrate, while the leprechauns formed into a giant shamrock again.

"I want a Firebolt," Harry corrected, while Hermione cheered and did a little dance on Ron's other side. Behind her, Draco clapped enthusiastically.

Ireland scored twice more before Bulgaria managed to. The veela danced in celebration when they did, and this time, Harry took Bill's advice and blocked his ears.

"Dimitrov, Levski, Dimitrov, Ivanova- oh, I say!"

From where they'd been hovering above the rest of the game, Krum and Lynch suddenly plummeted. One of Ireland's beaters knocked a bludger at Krum, but he was going too fast for it to have had any hope of hitting. Harry shifted his gaze, scanning the grass below for the snitch…

"They're going to crash!" Hermione said shrilly, through her fingers. Harry's heart was in his throat; he'd have begun to pull up or slow down by now, but they were both still accelerating-

With no warning, Krum pulled out of the dive at the very last moment and corkscrewed away almost lazily.

Lynch ploughed directly into the grass, and a groan raced through the stands. Ginny was on her feet, leaning over the edge of the box looking, looking horrified.

"He'll be all right," Bill assured her, as a team of mediwizards hurried out onto the pitch toward Lynch's still form.

"He'd better be!" Ginny said, swatting away his attempts to get her to sit down. "Ireland's without a seeker, otherwise!" Harry replayed Krum's feint while the mediwizards saw to Lynch.

"Reckon you can learn that one?" Ron asked, lowering his omnioculars for a moment.

"Not on my Nimbus," Harry said ruefully.

"Maybe not quite so well, but still - imagine Malfoy's face- Sorry," he added, glancing around to look at Draco, who was watching the Irish team's huddle in the middle of the pitch.

"Imagine Pomfrey's," Harry muttered back. "If the feint didn't kill me, she would."

Lynch finally managed to get himself back into the air, and play resumed. Ireland seemed to take Krum's feint as a challenge, and scored ten goals in fifteen minutes. Bulgaria hadn't scored again and seemed to take it personally because play got nasty after that; Ireland were awarded three penalties in a row after being fouled by Bulgaria. The leprechauns seemed particularly pleased by this, and were cheerfully forming rude words, and big, mocking faces in the veelas' direction.

"And Ireland scores again!" Bagman cried. "The leprechauns are happy, the cheeky- Oh dear, they've upset Bulgaria's mascots..." The leprechauns - which had been clustered together to make a particularly rude hand gesture - scattered as several fireballs soared toward them.

Harry saw why Bill had suggested he run if he ever upset a veela; they'd sprouted wings and beaks and claws and a number of them were conjuring up handfuls of fire to fling at the leprechauns.

"Attempted tackle by Ivanova, but Troy with the Quaffle, Moran, Troy- Ooh, nice bludger from Vulchanov! Ivanova doesn't quite get to the Quaffle in time - it's falling, with Mullet in pursu-" Bagman hissed suddenly; one of the fireballs being flung about on the pitch almost hit Mullet, who'd dropped below the majority of the players to go after the falling Quaffle.

She barely got it off to Moran before Ivanova slammed into her. Below them, Ministry staff were pouring out onto the field to intervene before things got any more out of hand between the mascots. Harry scanned the chaos and found Padfoot trying to settle a pair of veela, while a group of leprechauns flung coins at his back - or tried to; the coins stopped in mid-air about a foot before they could hit him, then turned and flew back at the leprechauns, who scattered. Padfoot's mouth twitched.

The audience let out a roar, and Harry returned his attention to the game with a jerk of his omnioculars and found Krum clutching his nose and covered in blood.

"What-"

"Bludger from Quigley," Ron said. He pressed his omnioculars into Harry's hands and tugged Harry's away for himself. "If you hit replay, you'll be able to see it." Harry watched the replay through Ron's omnioculars, and, though there was no sound to it, could all too easily imagine the thunk of the bludger breaking Krum's nose. When Harry lowered the ominoculars again, Krum was still clutching his face, and no whistle had been blown.

"Shouldn't they call for a time out if he's hurt?" Hermione asked worriedly. Draco nodded, frowning.

"Time out!" Ron bellowed, though the referee had no hope of hearing; for one, they were all the way up in the Top Box. For two, Mostafa's broomstick had been hit by a veela's fireball - stray or targeted, Harry wasn't sure - and he seemed rather preoccupied. Harry couldn't blame him in the least, but regardless, watched with some amusement as a pair of Aurors he didn't know ran around trying to spray him with water from their wands. "He can't play like that!" Ron said.

"He's going to have to," Harry said grimly, pointing. "Look at Lynch." Lynch had just gone into a steep dive.

"Feinting, you reckon?" Ron asked. "Payback for before-"

"That's no feint," Ginny said, from Harry's other side. "He's seen it." Harry did his best to follow Lynch's gaze with the omnioculars, and sure enough the snitch was there, glinting gold in the late afternoon sun. He looked up at Lynch again, and saw Krum had not only noticed, not only flown after him, but managed to draw level. They were neck and neck, hurtling toward the snitch as it darted around above the grass.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, for the second time that match. Draco's knuckles were white on the back of her chair.

"They're not!" Ron was still on his feet, peering over the edge of the box through his omnioculars.

"Lynch is!" Harry said, and was, unfortunately, right; Lynch crashed, harder even than the first time, and was immediately set upon by a horde of gleeful veela. Krum spiralled up almost casually.

"He got it," Harry said.

"What?!" Ron whipped around to look at him.

"Where's the snitch?" Charlie bellowed from further down the row. "Did anyone-"

"Harry said Krum's got it!" Ginny called.

"Some seeker you are, Charlie," Fred said.

"Yeah, aren't meant to be good at spotting the snitch?" George said.

Krum slowed, stopped, then spun and faced the stands, lifting his hand into the air with purpose. The snitch fluttered there, trapped in the black leather of his glove, and behind him, the scoreboard updated itself:

 _BULGARIA - 160_

 _IRELAND - 170_

There was a moment of stunned silence, while the crowd processed what had happened. Then, a roar went up from Ireland's supporters. Ginny laughed and waved her flag, and Bill brought his fingers to his lips and let out a whistle so loud Harry thought the players could probably hear it where they were. Hermione was doing an odd little dance and cheering, Ron was jumping up and down, yelling, and the fist that wasn't pumping madly in the air was clutching at Harry, forcing him to jump up and down too… not that Harry minded in the slightest. Draco clapped enthusiastically, but still seemed very composed compared to the rest of them.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman roared. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH, BUT IRELAND WINS! Merlin, I don't think any of us were expecting that!" Amidst all of the celebrating in Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys' row of seats, Fred and George were oddly still, staring at each other with identical disbelievingly delighted looks on their faces.

"Not that I'm complaining," Ron said, releasing Harry so that he could clap, "but what did Krum catch the snitch for? Bulgaria were a hundred and sixty points behind-"

"Ireland's chasers were too good and he knew it," Harry said, having to yell to be heard over the noise. "If he hadn't grabbed it then and ended it, they'd have lost by loads more."

"Smart," Hermione said, watching Krum; he still had blood dripping from his nose, but was on the ground and the mediwizards were on their way to him. "And very brave of him, playing on like that."

"Mad, more like," Draco said. "Look at him; he's a mess."

"I reckon it was brilliant," Harry said.


	5. Death Eater

"...bloody incredible, Krum is!" Ron said passionately. Harry caught Hermione's eye and grinned at the affectionately exasperated look on her face. She rolled her eyes, smiled slightly, and went back to her conversation with Marlene, Percy, and Mr Weasley.

"Krum?" Fred asked. "Isn't he that quodpot player?"

"Nah, Quidditch," Harry said, glancing sideways at Ron. "Irish, I think." Ron pulled a face at him. "Or maybe Danish."

"Name rings a bell," George said, pausing in his efforts to steal Bill's hipflask from where it rested against his leg, to pretend to think about it. "You know about him, Harry?"

"Yeah, I reckon I've heard him mentioned once or twice," Harry said, grinning.

"In the last _minute_ ," Fred said, turning to give Ron an accusing look. "And then half-a-hundred times before that."

"Shut up," Ron said, ears going red as he looked between Harry and the twins.

"Leave him alone," Ginny said, when George opened his mouth to retaliate. "He can't help that he's in love." Fred and George chortled, and the sound made Bill - who'd been talking with Moony, Dora, and Charlie - glance around. George yanked back his hand and sat still and innocent until Bill turned back around.

The fire they'd cooked breakfast on that morning had tripled in size - Charlie's handiwork - and they were all clustered around it now, listening to the Irish music that was playing loudly a few rows over. It was the perfect way to celebrate, really; warm by the fire, but still able to see the celebratory fireworks the Irish supporters were sending up into the sky. And, as an added bonus, over the course of the evening, the fire had drawn a number of people to the Weasleys' little pocket of the campsite:

"Wasted affection, Ron," Seamus said; he and Dean had wandered over about an hour ago. "You know who was really incredible… Ireland!"

"Not that you're biased or anything, Seamus," Harry teased; Seamus' face was painted green and yellow, and he wore an Irish flag around his shoulders like a cloak.

"Seamus, biased toward Ireland?" Dean asked, pressing a hand to his heart and making Ginny laugh. "Never!"

"I'm an Irish fan too, Seamus," Ron said, "but you've got to admit, Krum was-"

"Krum was okaaay," Seamus said, clearly reluctant to praise the enemy, "but if you ask me-" A dreamy look crossed his face. "-Bulgaria's real stars were the veela."

"Oh, yes," Luna said, with a happy sigh, looking up from her seat next to Ginny, "weren't they wonderful?"

"Budge up, Potter, Weasley." Draco seemed to materialise out of the darkness beyond the fire's light, and, despite his rather forceful words, seemed uncertain.

"Draco," Harry said, surprised, sliding over to make room for him on the log. "Butterbeer?"

"All right," Draco said, squeezing down between them. Harry reached over to grab one from the crate beside Moony and passed it to him.

"I thought you said you wouldn't come by," Ron said, bumping his shoulders to Draco's, which resulted in Draco - less deliberately - bumping his shoulders into Harry's. It was a gentle bump, but still almost enough to push Harry off the log; it didn't seat three anywhere near as comfortably as it had seated two.

"I didn't think I'd be allowed to," Draco said, seeming pleased by the greeting. He opened his butterbeer and took a sip. "And technically, I'm probably not, but Hydrus is over at Goyle's tent, and Mother and Father have turned in for the night, so I figured what they don't know won't hurt them."

"That's the spirit!" Fred said. Beside him, George had finally managed to sneak Bill's hipflask away without him noticing.

"Hey, Malfoy," Dean said. "How's-"

"Sit still, would you?!" They all turned to look at Dora, who was leaning against Moony, with a hand pressed to her bulging stomach. "Irish supporter, this one, apparently." She stretched out a little, then kicked off her boots and put her feet up in Charlie's lap. "Ah, that's much better..."

"Anything else, M'Lady?" Charlie asked with a laugh.

"Well, I'd love a firewhiskey, but I'm not allowed," she said mournfully. "So no, thank you."

* * *

The curtain that separated the main room of the pavilion from the master bedroom swished as Narcissa let herself in.

"Unflattering things," Narcissa murmured, eyeing Lucius up and down.

"They're not supposed to be flattering," Lucius replied, smoothing the black fabric of his robes. It had been almost thirteen years since he last wore them, and they felt loose and ungainly, but then, that was the point; loose robes hid the shape of the person wearing them, and also disguised the way they moved, to a certain extent.

Lucius had no shame in his allegiance, but he would be prosecuted for it if he was discovered, so it was for the best if there was nothing to give him away tonight. And on that note… he bound his hair with a black ribbon, and tucked it into the neck of his robes, out of sight. Then, he pulled on a pair of black gloves.

"Good thing it's not any warmer," Narcissa said.

"Indeed." She came to stand behind him, and smoothed the shoulders of his robes, eyes on his in the dressing table mirror. He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth so he could brush a kiss along her knuckles. Her lips curved ever so slightly upward, but then she pulled her hand away, gently, and was serious again.

"How do I look?"

Lucius knew immediately what she meant, and reached for the bone-white mask on the dressing table in answer. He lifted it up over his face, and as he did, Narcissa took on a pale blue glow.

"Perfect," he said, lowering it, then added, "As always." She favoured him with another faint smile.

"I'll see to Draco once you're gone," she said. "And Hydrus-"

"Ought to have been done already, by Goyle." He stood, and brushed a gloved hand over her cheek. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Half the Ministry's out there," Narcissa countered. "Along with whoever else they've brought in for security."

"No one particularly intimidating, according to Crouch's information," Lucius said. There were a handful of international Aurors, and a few Bulgarian Ministry staff, and he wasn't particularly worried about either. "And the worst they'll be expecting is some mischief from disgruntled Bulgarian supporters. We're organised, and we've been practicing to ensure we're not _too_ rusty, and even if that weren't the case, the Dark Lord personally requested our presence tonight, as proof of our loyalty. This is not a test I can fail."

"No," she said quietly, drawing back. "It's not."

Narcissa, in his opinion, was by far the best of the Black sisters, embodying all of their best qualities and very few of their less desirable ones. It wasn't often that he compared her unfavourably to Bellatrix, but on nights like these where he was to do his Lord's bidding, he would have preferred Bellatrix and her eager, contagious energy, to Narcissa, who was unsettled in a way that Lucius found draining.

He pulled his mask on, lifted his hood and secured it with a charm, then slid his wand into his sleeve to rest just above his Mark. He could feel the pull of it, not to the Dark Lord, but to where Wormtail was waiting to meet them all.

"I'll see you later," he said to his blue, glowing wife, then pressed his wand-tip down and let the Mark pull him away.

* * *

Draco was been... off - distant or nervous or… something. Harry'd been able to smell it, and he was sure Draco knew; Harry'd caught him glancing his way several times now, with pursed lips and a tense little frown.

"Everything okay?" It was late by the time Harry had him alone enough to be able to ask about it; Dean and Seamus had been collected by Mrs Finnegan, and Moony, Dora, and Marlene had excused themselves to their own tents, dropping Luna back to her father on the way. Ginny and Hermione were sitting on one side of what remained of the fire, giggling as Mr Weasley and all of the Weasley brothers put their heads together to make plans for Mrs Weasley's upcoming birthday; while it wasn't until later in the year, they intended to celebrate while Bill and Charlie were still around.

"Fine," Draco said. "Why wouldn't it be?" There was tension in his scent, again, and Harry frowned. Draco seemed to realise it too, because he sighed. "Your sense of smell is incredibly inconvenient, you know."

"Sorry?"

"I didn't mean- never mind." Draco tossed a bit of wood into the dying fire.

" _No_ , Fred," Bill, Mr Weasley, and Ginny all said together, and Harry glanced over for long enough to watch Fred straighten, indignant, then turned back to Draco.

"So what's wrong?" Draco waved a hand, as if to shoo the question away.

"Right. Sorry. Did I do something? I can go, if you want, or-" Harry gestured to the cluster of Weasleys on the other side of the fire. "-send one of the others over, or if you want to be on your own…"

"No," Draco said. "No, I've been alone quite enough these holidays. Stay."

"All right." Harry shifted on the log, uncomfortably aware that Draco hadn't denied his problem was with Harry. He thought hard, for a moment, about something else to say, something to change the topic. "Snape never brought you to visit this summer." Draco's absence had been unfortunate, but Harry had been rather glad for the lack of Snape after what had happened at the end of term.

At the mention of Snape, Draco's expression twisted, and Harry winced.

"He's been busy," Draco said, before Harry could decide whether to apologise or simply flee across the fire or into the nearest tent. "Apparently." Draco was silent for a moment. "I think he's upset with me."

"Oh." When nothing more was forthcoming - either to change the subject or expand on it - Harry decided to push his luck. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing bad," Draco said quickly. "We're just… having a difference in opinion at the moment. Or- at least I think that's what it must be. We haven't really been able to talk about it."

"Right," Harry said uncertainly. "Well, er… at least your parents have been better lately?"

"What do you mean?" Draco's voice was sharp.

"Just that they've let you write this summer," Harry said hastily, putting his hands up in a gesture of apology. "Merlin."

"Sorry," Draco said, and seemed genuine. "I'm just a bit- Father's been talking a lot about the-" Draco pressed his lips together into a thin line, then sighed. "-about the Dark Lord this summer."

"How so?" Harry asked, immediately alert.

"Just about how it's only a matter of time until he's back, and how it's time for me to remember that I'm a Malfoy, and give some serious thought to where my loyalties truly lie…" Draco pulled a face, but his scent was uncomfortable, and his eyes stayed on the fire, or perhaps on the laughing Weasleys; anywhere but Harry.

"You mean…"

"They want me to be a Death Eater, Potter."

"... Oh."

"Yes," Draco said, kicking an empty butterbeer bottle into the coals - all that was really left of the fire now - where it began to glow red hot. "'Oh' sums it up quite well."

"If- if you need to get away, we've got rooms at Grimmauld. They wouldn't be able to get to you there." Harry looked at Draco's face, which was troubled, and swallowed. "Or- if you don't- I mean, if it's what you want, to- I'd rather you didn't, but it's up to you, so-"

"Well," Draco muttered, "let's both be thankful I've already made my decision, and wasn't waiting for you to convince me… 'I'd rather you didn't'. _Honestly."_ He was still rather tense, but amusement had slipped into his scent, and Harry thought that was a good thing.

"Then- like I said, if your family… Grimmauld's always open-"

"I'm hoping it won't come to that," Draco said, twirling a butterbeer cap between his fingers, before tossing that into the fire as well. "But thanks."

"And if you need to talk… Padfoot's family were the same. He'd understand. Obviously you can talk to me or Ron or Hermione or anyone else, but-"

"Yes, thank you, Potter." Draco's tone was dry, and a little condescending, but his scent was fond.

There was a boom and a several startled screams echoed over the music that had been playing a few rows of tents away.

Harry glanced in the direction of the noise, amused; doubtless, someone had had a bit much firewhiskey and tried to set a firework off inside their tent. If Padfoot's stories from when he'd dropped by earlier were to be believed, they wouldn't be the first to have done so that night.

"Well, the Irish haven't settled any-" Bill stood, stretched, and yawned. "-but I reckon I'm done for the night."

"It's barely one!" George protested.

"Yeah, but I'm old and boring these days," Bill said, winking, as he leaned down to ruffle George's hair.

"Thank Merlin," Percy said, getting to his feet. "I was worried everyone would give me a hard time if I was the first to go, but I've been wanting my bed for about an hour." He rubbed his eyes and stumbled toward the tent. "Good night, everyone."

"Night, Perce," Fred said, then looked at Bill. "Traitor."

There was still a bit of distant screaming and carrying on, and Harry found himself a unsettled by the fact that it hadn't stopped yet.

 _You're being silly_ , he told himself. He was just a bit on edge because Draco had put thoughts of Voldemort into his head. _It's just someone that's had a bit much to drink, or_ i _s trying to impress a veela or something._ Before he could convince himself of that, though, the music cut off sharply.

Harry was on his feet with his wand out before he was conscious of having moved. If he'd been in his wolf form, he'd have had his ears back, and hackles up. As it was, his ears were straining, and he was beginning to realise why he'd been so unsettled by the continued screaming; there was no laughter mixed in with it anymore.

Mr Weasley made an odd sound. Harry looked around and saw Draco, Hermione, and Ron had all got to their feet and drawn their wands as well, and even as he watched, Fred, George and Ginny exchanged serious looks and stood. Charlie and Mr Weasley were both still seated, and Percy and Bill had paused by the entrance to the tent. All four of them looked bewildered.

"Ron," Mr Weasley said, "what-?"

"Harry?" Ron asked. Beside Harry, Draco shifted, and there was something warily expectant in his scent, but none of the worry Harry himself was feeling. It occurred to him that they hadn't heard what he had, only seen him react and reacted accordingly. He swallowed.

"The music's stopped," Harry said. "But the screaming hasn't."

A brief pause followed, then:

"Blimey," Charlie said, getting to his feet. "You must have ears like a bat, Harry." Despite how tense the situation was, Harry saw an amused look pass between Ron and Draco, though neither corrected Charlie with 'wolf' like Harry suspected they would have liked to. "Bill, want to come and check it out?"

"I want to sleep," Bill muttered, but he rubbed his eyes and shuffled over to Charlie's side.

The next scream was closer, and they all froze.

"It might not be anything to worry about," Mr Weasley said, though Harry didn't think he believed his own words. "Might just be that someone's got a bit rowdy…" Hermione, Ron, Draco, and Ginny all looked to Harry, as if waiting to hear what he thought. The unsettled feeling in Harry's stomach was telling him Voldemort, but was that instinct, or was that just what he'd come to expect?

"One way to find out," he said, with forced calm. "My mirror's in my bag." He ducked past Bill and Percy into the tent, and headed straight for the bunk room. His mirror was sitting on top of his bag, and already shouting at him:

"Harry! Harry Potter!" It was Padfoot's voice, sharp with worry, and Harry _knew_. He snatched up the mirror and Padfoot's face appeared. " _Harry!_ Are you all right?"

"Fine! Voldemort-?"

"Death Eaters," Padfoot said, speaking quickly. Harry could see people rushing around in the dark behind him, and it was almost hard to hear him over the noise. "They've got Anti-Apparition wards up-"

"It was planned," Harry said, swallowing. He could hear more voices than just those belonging to Hermione, Draco and the Weasleys outside the tent, and the dull thuds of lots of feet on the grass outside.

"Where are you?" Padfoot's clipped tone was confirmation enough. "I'm sending Kreacher to come and get you."

"No," Harry said.

"Yes." Padfoot seemed to glance over Harry's shoulder. "Are you in the tent?"

"If Kreacher takes me away, I'm coming right back," Harry said, hurrying back out into the main part of the tent.

"No," Padfoot snapped, "you're not. They're not out there celebrating Ireland's win, Harry, they're probably here to finish what Wormtail started in June, which is to-"

"Get me," Harry said. "Yeah, I'd figured." Padfoot gave him a look. "But they'll tear the campsite apart looking for me if they don't see Kreacher take me-"

Padfoot growled at him, and Harry didn't know if it was a concession or disagreement.

"Fred, George, go - take care of Ginny!" Mr Weasley said loudly from outside the tent. "You three as well!"

"But Harry-!" Harry heard Ron say.

"He'll be right behind you," Mr Weasley said. His pale face was suddenly peering in through the entry flaps. "Harry! Out! Quickly!"

"What's happening?" Padfoot demanded from inside the mirror. Harry burst out of the tent and into utter chaos. "Harry?!"

"It's fine," Harry said distractedly, but it was not; people were rushing about in various stages of panic - some were sobbing, some screaming, others were silent, or talking anxiously amongst themselves - and several tents had been trampled in the process, Hermione's and Ginny's included.

Both girls were gone, as were Ron. Draco, and the twins, or at least he thought so, until he heard Hermione shouting at him:

"Harry!"

"Hurry up!" That was Draco. Harry spotted them trying and failing to stand against the mob rushing toward the woods, waiting for him. He'd barely taken a step toward them when they were swallowed by the chaos. Even Ron, who was tall and had bright hair and was therefore usually easy to spot in crowds, was out of sight.

"... on my way; stay wherever you are-" Padfoot was saying from inside the mirror, but Harry lost track of that when a spell whizzed past his face.

Mr Weasley shouted something to or about Charlie, and then he, Bill, and Percy were running away, toward where Harry could see spells flashing brightly in the dark night.

A hand descended on Harry's shoulder.

He spun, wand coming up, but it was only Charlie. They stared at each other for a moment - Charlie taken aback by the wand at his chest, Harry apologetic - and then Charlie recovered himself.

"Dad said to get you to the others," he yelled over the noise. "He and Bill and Perce have gone to help the Aurors!" He gave Harry a nudge. "Let's go!"

"We're heading to the woods!" Harry said, looking down at the mirror, but Padfoot said nothing; the glass had gone dark and silent.

* * *

"Harry!" People buffeted Hermione on all sides, rough in their haste to get away from the campsite. She caught a glimpse of Harry, stepping out of the boys' tent: "Harry!" She'd have lifted a hand to wave at him, but she was holding onto Ron and Draco, so as not to lose them in the crowd. Harry, though, had obviously heard her, and turned-

Someone barrelled into Hermione, knocking her back a few steps, and Ron's hand was pulled from hers.

"Ron!?" Her hand tightened on Draco's, and she risked a quick hop on the spot to try to make herself tall enough to see either of the other two, but couldn't.

"Where's Weasley?!" Draco shouted, stopping, and she had to pull him out of the way of a large wizard that would otherwise have trampled him.

"I don't know!" she shouted back, trying to find him amongst all the dark, panicked shapes. She pulled her wand out, now that her hand was free. "Ron!" Draco repaid her earlier favour a moment later, and yanked her roughly to the side... not out of the way of a panicked World-Cup-goer, but out of the way of a silvery spell. The screaming around them got louder, the movements more frantic. The spell that followed the first one hit the ground between her and Draco with a tiny explosion of indigo sparks.

The startled expression on Draco's face was such a contrast to his usual, neutral expression that it would have been funny under just about any other circumstances, but Hermione was too busy shoving him out of the way of the third spell to be amused.

Ron probably would have found time to do both, she thought, sending a Stunner off in the direction the most recent spell had come from. Merlin, but she hoped he and Harry were okay, and hoped they'd managed to find each other.

" _Protego!_ " she said blocking an orange jet of light. Draco sent a neat Stunner over the top of her shield. It hit someone in dark robes, and they toppled backward, silent.

Hermione looked up at Draco approvingly.

"Yes, yes," he said, "I'm brilliant. Let's go." He pulled on her hand. "Now."


	6. Masks and Malfoys

There had been so many people rushing out of the campsite and into the treeline that the woods should have felt crowded. It was oddly quiet, though; whatever noise might have come from the campsite was muffled by the dense, mossy trunks of trees, and there were whispers around but Ron couldn't tell if they were from people he couldn't see, or just the wind.

" _Melumen_ ," he muttered, and a blob of white light formed at the tip of his wand, growing - the way a drop of water in a tap might - until it was about the size of his fist. Then, it broke free of the wand and floated up to hover level with his ear. It was a spell he'd found in one of Bill's old books; cursebreakers couldn't afford to have their wands occupied with a _Lumos_ charm while they working.

He looked around, nervous; he knew with so many people around the Ministry would never be able to tell it was him that was doing magic outside of school; that was how Harry and Malfoy got away with it in the holidays. The Ministry would have to be pretty unfair to begrudge him a bit of light when he was alone and Merlin-only-knew-what was going on back at the campsite, but he also thought it'd be just his luck to be expelled for something as silly as a lighting spell.

When, after a few seconds, no one official had popped out from behind the trees to try to snap his wand, he snorted at himself for even worrying about it, and began to make his way through the woods.

He hoped everyone was all right, that Hermione and Malfoy had managed to stay together, that Fred and George had listened to Dad and were looking after Ginny, and that Harry had found either of their little groups, or Sirius or Remus or someone. He hoped Dad and Percy and Bill and Charlie weren't too caught up in whatever it was that was going on, hoped Mum hadn't heard what was happening, so she wouldn't be sitting at home worrying about them all, and more than anything, Ron hoped that he'd read the tense look on Harry's face wrong, hoped this was just a few rowdy Quidditch fans and not something more sinister.

 _When are we ever that lucky, though?_

A twig snapped nearby, and Ron froze, wand snapping up. The little ball of light bobbing along above his shoulder stopped too.

"Who's there?" Ron asked. His voice was sharp, and steady.

"No one that wants you around, so keep walking, Weasel." Malfoy - not the one Ron liked - turned to look at Ron over his shoulder; he'd found himself a gap to watch the campsite through; Ron could see a pack of dark robed figures marching along with people suspended upside-down in the air above them. Other figures in black were scattered in twos and threes throughout the campsite, setting tents alight and throwing spells at whoever came in range, or caught up in duels with the Aurors and other Ministry staff that were trying to get things under control. "Scared of the big, dark forest, Weasel? Can't blame you, you being a blood traitor, and all, but I hope you're not sticking around for protection." Malfoy's eyes glittered in the light of Ron's spell. "I'd hand you over in a heartbeat."

"No surprises there," Ron muttered darkly. For all the flashing lights down at the campsite, it was still too dark for Ron to recognise anyone, and there was enough noise that it was impossible to pick out individual voices. "Don't suppose you've seen any of my lot?"

"I stepped on a slug, earlier," Malfoy replied. "Does that count?"

"You're a git, you know that?" Ron asked, grinding his teeth.

"And you're unwelcome," Malfoy said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Shoo." When Ron didn't move, he cocked his head, smiling nastily. "Unless you're here to enjoy the show…?" His pale eyes flicked back to the floating people. "Are you hoping Granger's one of the muggles up there, Weasel, so you might get a chance to see her knickers-"

Ron saw red. Malfoy, he imagined, would have seen a freckled fist and then the leafy canopy in quick succession.

"You assaulted me!" Malfoy said, leaning heavily against his tree now, with a hand pressed to his bleeding lip. "You wait until my father hears about this-"

"I reckon he's a bit busy to be listening to you right now," Ron said. "That's him over there, isn't it, running around in one of those dark cloaks?" Malfoy sneered at him, but his eyes were wary and fixed on Ron's wand, but his hand - the one not dabbing at his lip, was inching toward his pocket. " _Expelliarmus,"_ Ron said. His wand flew out of his hand and toward Ron, who let it soar past without bothering to catch it. It landed somewhere behind him. Malfoy's eyes blazed.

"Magic outside of school," he said, after a moment. "They can expel you for that, you know. And I'll see to it that they do-"

"Magic outside of school?" Ron said, widening his eyes the way the twins did when they were trying to look innocent. "I did, yeah. I'm just a poor old blood traitor in a big, dark, forest, though, and I saw a dark figure in the trees, and thought it was one of the cloaked lot that were terrorising the campsite. I managed to punch them, and disarm them, and get them in a partial body-bind before I ran off, scared."

"Partial-?"

" _Torpeo_ ," Ron said. Malfoy's legs snapped together and his left arm clamped down against his side. "Partial body-bind, yeah." Malfoy hopped a few times, right arm flailing but his balance failed and he fell awkwardly to the ground with a snarl. "It's not as good as a full body-bind," Ron said, "but I'm also not a complete git, so…"

"Weasley-"

"Can't hear you, dark-figure-in-the-trees," Ron said, turning to leave. "I'm scared and running away."

* * *

"Well, here looks as good a place as any," George said. He brushed a layer of leaves off a fallen log, and made a grand gesture at it. "Your seat, fair lady."

Ginny poked her tongue out at him and stepped forward to sit, only to be shoved out of the way by Fred, who gathered up imaginary skirts and lowered himself delicately onto the log.

"Oh, _thank_ you," he said in a shrill, snooty voice that made all three of them laugh. "I don't suppose I could get a cup of tea as well, my dear, perhaps with a spot of brandy? No? I'll have to settle for a bit of Gin, then." And with that, Fred pulled Ginny down onto the log beside him, tickling her.

"S-stop it," she laughed, fending him off with her elbows. George plopped down on her other side, and the three of them huddled together. Ginny was grateful for the warmth; it was cold and a bit damp in the woods.

"Holding up all right?" George asked, nudging her.

"Yeah," Ginny said, and it was the truth; _she_ was fine. It was everyone else she was worried about. "Do you reckon we'll be here long?"

"Depends on how long it takes Harry to scare off whatever trouble's come after him this time," Fred said fondly. Ginny frowned at him, about to tell him that wasn't funny, but someone else spoke:

"Too long," an unfamiliar female voice said from a dark patch of trees on their left. "At least for you."

Fred and George looked toward the invisible speaker and drew their wands in unison. Ginny snatched hers out of her pocket.

There was a flash of light from the opposite direction to the speaker. Before any of them could react, an orange spell hit Fred with a sickening crunch, and he toppled backward over their log. He was silent as he fell, but George made a strange, choking, gasping sound, as if he'd been the one hit.

" _Fred_!" Ginny almost didn't recognise her own voice, shrill and panicked as it was. George's hand closed around her arm and yanked her behind him. His eyes were fixed on the two dark figures that had stepped from the trees, wands raised, but she could tell from the painfully tight grip he had on her that his mind was with his twin; Fred had not yet got to his feet, or said anything.

One of the figures was tall and thin, while the other was short and squat - the short one being the woman who'd spoken. Both wore dark robes and white, skeletal masks that covered the top half of their faces. Though Ginny had never seen them before - at least not in person - Tom had drawn them in his old diary once upon a time, back when he was barely older than she was now.

 _Knights of Walpurgis_ , he'd labelled them, though Ginny knew they went by a different name these days; Death Eaters.

The two walked almost casually to stand beside each other, apparently unbothered by the fact that both Ginny and George had their wands trained on them. Ginny was beginning to lose feeling in her fingers.

"George," Ginny muttered, trying to shake him loose. "George, ow."

"Fred," George muttered back, voice hoarse, and eyes never leaving the danger across the clearing. "Can you check-?"

Trusting him to cover her if the Death Eaters tried anything, Ginny risked a glance over her shoulder, heart in her throat. Fred lay still and pale on the leafy ground, but she could see his breath misting in the air, and couldn't see any blood.

George waited until she'd turned around to let his eyes flick her way, and though she'd not yet said anything, it was clear he could tell from her expression that Fred was alive. His fingers loosened on her arm, and some of the tightness in his expression eased.

"Right," George said, and his voice shook; Ginny thought it was with equal parts fury and relief, rather than fear. "I'm going to give the pair of you-" He flicked his wand between the Death Eaters, and they both twitched their wands up. "-exactly three seconds to _fuck off_ before I make you." The two exchanged glances, and their body language relaxed; they were confident, she realised, curling her lip. "One."

A pair of - presumably - fully qualified Death Eaters _should_ be confident against a pair of students, but watching them, Ginny began to think they were not just confident, but overconfident. And, perhaps, if George wasn't George, and Ginny wasn't Ginny, they'd have been right to be. Except George _was_ George; he was one half of a pair made rather formidable by their interest in meddling with obscure and annoying branches of magic, and he was a big brother that had been told to watch out for his little sister. And, Ginny was Ginny, with a magical knowledge that consisted of the Hogwarts first and second year syllabus, but also a jumble of memories from Tom Riddle's own Hogwarts days. More than that, though, she was becoming less afraid and more angry with each moment that passed.

"Two," George said, and then, instead of 'three' muttered something Ginny didn't quite catch. Several firecrackers burst from the end of his wand and popped noisily in the clearing with flashes of bright light. Taking advantage of the distraction, George shook something small and colourful into his sleeve and then said, " _Waddiwassos_." Whatever it was that had been in his hand sped over to the nearest Death Eater - the tall one, who staggered back, spluttering.

" _Protego_ ," Ginny said, deflecting a spell from the shorter Death Eater. It hit a tree with a sizzling noise. The second spell hit the log Fred was lying behind, and Ginny bared her teeth. " _Tracagnum."_ The female Death Eater flinched, flailing in panic as she was hit with invisible blows.

 _That's my girl,_ Tom murmured into Ginny's head, approval clear in his tone, and she shuddered. The Death Eater remembered herself and flicked her wand, cancelling Ginny's bludgeoning hex, but was too slow to block Ginny's next spell:

" _Pulmona Ligo_ ," Ginny said. The Death Eater shuddered and opened her mouth but no sound came out, nor did any air. No air would be going in either, at least not while she had petrified Ginny's head Tom's voice whispered darker variations of the curse, ones that wouldn't wear off until death, but she ignored him; this curse would wear off as soon as she was unconscious, and that suited Ginny just fine. There was a countercurse, of course, but if the woman knew it, she was either too uncomfortable or too frightened to manage it.

She watched as the woman pressed a hand to her chest, and waved the other at her companion for help.

She wouldn't be getting any; the other Death Eater was currently struggling with their tongue - which was hanging level with their knees - and with George, who was throwing spell after spell after spell, and showing no sign of easing up. They were doing an admirable job, all things considered, but it was clear George's barrage was wearing them down.

Ginny sent a bat bogey hex at the woman, who'd fallen to her knees; somehow, she managed to block it with a silent Shield Charm, so Ginny shot off another two in quick succession.

 _It's unsporting to hex someone when they're already down, you know,_ Tom said.

 _So's attacking children_ , Ginny said, indulging the voice with an answer that wasn't 'shut up' or 'go away', for the first time in a long time. She and George had only fared as well as they had because they'd been underestimated, and perhaps also because the Death Eaters had been looking to terrorise and not kill them; if they had been, Fred wouldn't be breathing.

If either of the two recovered enough to fight back properly, Ginny was fairly sure they'd be fighting to kill. Best not to give them the opportunity.

Ginny's Death Eater twitched and collapsed, her mask bulging as green bogeys tried to escape from it. George's Death Eater saw and slashed his wand toward them; Ginny was too slow with her Shield Charm, but it wouldn't have made a difference; the spell passed through George's hasty Shield Charm as if it hadn't even been there. Ginny felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach, and went tumbling backward, cracking her head against the log they'd been sitting on earlier. She saw stars, and her chest hurt something fierce. George landed beside her with a grunt, but wasn't still for long; she could hear him moving, and then- silence.

"Good bloody riddance," George said, and she heard him let out a loud sigh as he rolled over to face her. "Ginny?"

"M'okay." She pushed herself upright to prove it, but George had taken her at her word, and was already throwing himself over the log to kneel by Fred. Ginny scrambled after him, wincing as her head throbbed.

"Fred?" George grabbed his twin by the shoulders and shook him. "Freddie?"

Ginny lifted her wand, ready to cast a _Rennervate_ , but it wasn't necessary; with more vehement swearing than she'd ever heard before, Fred convulsed into consciousness. George threw himself down onto Fred, hugging him.

" _STOP!"_ Fred's legs kicked, as if he was having a fit. The next thing out of his mouth was an agonised, wordless scream.

"Fred?" Ginny asked, voice wavering.

" _Finite_ ," George said worriedly, leaning back a bit. "It's all right, Freddie, they're gone, no one's attacking us-"

"I'm not cursed," Fred said, through gritted teeth. He sucked in a breath and let it out with a hiss of words Mum would strangle him for knowing, let alone saying. "I don't care who's gone, or where." He took another furious, pained breath. "I'll attack you myself if you don't _get off my shoulder_." George shifted and Fred gasped and went white.

"Bad?" George asked, looking rather pale himself now.

"Remember the time I- put nettles in your Quidditch breeches?" George cringed. "Worse than that. A thousand times worse."

* * *

"Are they gone?"

"For now," Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand, and clutching her side with the other. "I want to know how they keep finding us, though!" She and Draco had been attacked a second time before they reached the forest, and a third time within it, thought the last had been less of a fight than a chase. Neither she or Draco were as fast or fit as Harry or Ron, so rather than stumble around in the woods, they'd doubled back to the campsite and lost their pursuers in the mess of tents and spellfire. They were currently hiding inside an abandoned tent, trying to catch their breath.

"Merlin knows." Draco rubbed at a bit of dirt on his trousers, frowned, then seemed to give it up as a bad job. He edged forward to join Hermione at the entrance. "What's the plan?"

"Well, I'd like to avoid being cursed by any of the Death Eaters," Hermione tightened her grip on her wand, and nodded out into the spell-lit campsite. "And I suppose we ought to find the others as quickly as we can… Oh, I hope they're all right." She'd suspected from the moment Harry stood up back at the Weasleys' campsite that Voldemort or his followers were behind this, but had _known_ when she first saw the masks the cloaked figures were wearing; she'd seen them before, in a photo in _Rise And Fall Of The Dark Arts,_ and she worried that it wasn't a matter of whether the others were in trouble, but of how bad the trouble they were in was.

A distant boom shook the tent, and Hermione could hear shouting in response, then approaching footsteps. She and Draco tucked themselves into the corner, out of sight, and waited for whoever it was to pass them by.

 _Stay here, or move… stay, or move…_ Hermione bit her lip and peered outside again. There was another boom, this one closer, and Hermione assumed there was fire involved, because orange light flared through the canvas.

"We need to move," she said, gesturing to Draco.

"Where?" His eyes flicked around over her shoulder, and his expression was wary. "Back to the woods?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "but I-" There was more orange light outside the tent - less of a flash than a ball - and it was growing. Hermione's eyes widened. Draco turned and baulked.

The pair of them scrambled out into the night, mere moments a large fireball collided with the tent and flared, blindingly bright, and incredibly hot.

She brought up a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness, face stinging, and hair smelling like it was burning, and stumbled back a few steps away. When she was no longer hot enough that she felt she was in danger of catching fire herself, she lowered her arm, and looked around.

Draco was a few feet away, looking singed and a bit dazed, but otherwise unhurt. Hermione nodded to let him know she was all right, and then, there was a flash of red and he collapsed.

Hermione ducked in response, rightly predicting an attack; a blue spell soared overhead. She hurried to Draco's side.

" _Ren- Protego!_ " Hermione was knocked backward as a dark green spell collided with her shield, but it held. She stayed where she was, crouched by Draco, watching, listening, then heard movement behind a tent, and saw the white of one of those awful, skull-like masks. Hermione narrowed her eyes, unbothered by the fact that her target was out of sight, because there were ways around that: " _Bombarda!_ " Chunks of earth and wood and shreds of canvas burst into the air, and she could hear a man's muffled cursing. Debris peppered her and Draco, and Hermione flinched and cast a quick shield charm to protect them from the worst of it. " _Rennervate_."

Draco stirred, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

Quick footsteps had her relief vanishing almost immediately though, and she spun, wand snapping up:

" _Stupefy_!"

Mrs Malfoy swatted the spell away, apparently unimpressed. Hermione stared at her; she was out of place in all this chaos, unruffled and apparently unafraid in a dark green, expensive looking dressing gown; she didn't even have her wand out. Mrs Malfoy's stare made Hermione feel very small and grubby, but she straightened her back and refused to let on that that was the case.

After a moment, Mrs Malfoy's eyes dropped to Draco, who'd pushed himself up and was looking at the small crater Hermione's earlier spell had made. There was no movement behind the tent anymore; whoever had been there had either left or was waiting…

"Mother?" Draco had just noticed Mrs Malfoy. The older witch eyed Hermione, as if to be sure she wasn't going to attack her, then strode forward to crouch beside her son. Hermione kept her eyes on the tent she'd ruined.

"Are you hurt?" Mrs Malfoy asked. Everything was still and quiet around them, so Hermione felt safe enough to move her attention to Draco.

"No, I'm fine," Draco said slowly. Mrs Malfoy nodded, and her eyes flicked to Hermione. After a moment, she arched an eyebrow.

"Well?" After a moment, it occurred to Hermione that Mrs Malfoy was talking to her. Hermione's mouth fell open but she recovered herself quickly and shook her head. "Good." Mrs Malfoy straightened, and Draco got to his feet as well, eyes never leaving his mother.

The intensity of the eye contact made Hermione think they were having a silent conversation, but she wasn't sure what about; she knew Draco well enough to know the tightness around his eyes meant he was feeling annoyed or defensive, but Mrs Malfoy was impassive but for the slight arch of her right eyebrow, and that gave Hermione very little to go on; perhaps it was about the Death Eaters, or perhaps it was about Draco sneaking off to the Weasleys' fire earlier in the night.

Perhaps Mrs Malfoy was simply silently chastising her son for how dirty his face and clothes were.

"Let's go," Mrs Malfoy said. After a moment, Draco tucked his wand away and nodded. He still didn't look _happy_ exactly, but he looked relaxed. Hermione's mouth fell open again.

"Are you mad?" she whispered, catching his arm. "They're still out there-"

"And if they're who we think they are," he muttered back, shrugging her off, "they're not going to attack my mother or anyone with her." His tone wasn't quite rude but it was arrogant, and not in his usual playful way. It reminded her more of Hydrus than anything, and it unsettled her.

"But..." She gave Draco a beseeching look, but his expression didn't change. "The others…"

"Good luck finding them," Mrs Malfoy said. Hermione frowned at her for eavesdropping, but Mrs Malfoy didn't seem to care. "Better that you find somewhere safe to sit and wait until this is over, and _then_ go looking."

Hermione was under no obligation to go with them, and she didn't think Mrs Malfoy would make any effort at all to stop her if she decided to leave… but she didn't think Draco would be allowed to go with her, and she had no idea where to start looking for the others, which meant she'd be alone. She'd be hurt or killed, or worse - taken, and used to lure Harry like she had been in June. And if Ron got caught up in it trying to help her like he had in June, or if one of the others did…

She looked at Draco, half-hoping he'd say something, or perhaps implore his mother to help them find the others - if she was so untouchable, surely they could use her - but he wasn't even looking at her.

"All right," Hermione said, her voice coming out smaller and wobblier than she would have liked. Draco did look at her then, rather sharply, but a few moments passed and he said nothing and did nothing except let his expression settle into something aloof again.

She understood that Draco probably had to be distant with her around his mother if he didn't want a talking to about mudbloods and the right sorts of friends and proper behaviour, but that didn't mean she liked it. She watched him for just long enough that she was sure he'd be able to tell - Draco was usually good at reading her - then turned and strode after Mrs Malfoy.


	7. Killing Curses

" _Avea Apara_." A shimmering orange dome sprung up around Harry and Charlie, and Harry baulked and jerked his wand tip down; his Stunner flashed harmlessly into the dirt beside his trainers.

An incoming spell hit the dome and bounced before whizzing off in the opposite direction. The dome wobbled slightly but otherwise showed no signs of weakening.

"You holding up all right?" Charlie asked, wiping his sweaty forehead.

"For now," Harry puffed, clutching his side. The original plan - to get Harry to the woods - had gone out the window almost immediately. They'd done fairly well together, him and Charlie, taking down two Death Eaters and leading three others on a chase that had spanned a decent amount of the campsite before they'd found themselves surrounded when another two Death Eaters Apparated in.

Harry ducked reflexively to avoid a spell that didn't even make it through Charlie's dome. A fireball followed and Harry flung up a hasty _Protego_ but the fire simply melted down the side of the dome and then faded altogether.

"What _is_ this?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Charlie panted. "We use them at work - they can hold out against a dragon, if you'd believe it."

"Seriously?" Harry asked, then ducked as four spells hit the dome in the same place; their casters scattered as the spells bounced back at them. "Brilliant."

"Sort of brilliant," Charlie corrected, grimacing. "We can't cast out, which is a bit unfortunate, and we can't move, either." Harry stared at him. "But they can't get us."

The five Death Eaters had grouped together and were circling slowly. Harry turned, keeping them in his line of sight.

"Now what, then?" he muttered. "Wait?"

"'til I catch my breath, yeah," Charlie said.

One of the Death Eaters flicked a spell at them, casually. It bounced off and the Death Eater sidestepped to avoid it, then inched forward, head cocked.

"Can they Apparate in here?" Harry asked.

"Nope."

"So I suppose we can't either?"

"Good guess. Right, so my plan-"

Bright green blossomed at the tip of one of the Death Eaters' wands, and then shot toward Harry and Charlie. Charlie smelled smug, and Harry realised then that he wasn't going to move. He grabbed Charlie's arm and yanked him down into the dirt. The spell passed through one side of the dome, then out the other and left a scorch mark on a tent.

"What the-"

"Killing curse," Harry said grimly, already scrambling to his feet while Charlie gaped. Several of the Death Eaters had raised their wands, smiles visible beneath their masks, and Harry stepped between them and Charlie, hoping... The smiles wavered, and then the Death Eaters split up again, obviously planning to encircle the dome; Harry couldn't cover Charlie at every angle, and they all knew it. "And now that they know they can get those through…"

"We're in trouble, yeah," Charlie said. He jabbed Harry in the side with his wand, and Harry shuddered as an unknown spell crawled over his skin. "Anyone around that's not us or wearing a mask?"

Harry risked taking his eyes off the Death Eaters to look, and strained his ears for footsteps or voices.

"No-"

"Great. _Finite_." The dome vanished. Whatever the incantation to his next spell was was lost in the roar of fire it conjured. It wasn't fiendfyre, Harry was sure of that much, but the fire spurting from the end of Charlie's wand seemed alive in a way that normal fire spells weren't. "Move!" The fire curled into a ball and flung itself at the nearest Death Eater, who conjured a shield of water. Fire met water with a shuddering boom that shook the campsite, and the shield sizzled and steamed. One of the Death Eaters shouted something Harry didn't hear properly; he and Charlie were already moving toward the distracted Death Eater.

Charlie battered at the shield with a whip of fire while other tendrils curled in the air around him, swatting spells away and stopping anyone from getting too close. Harry would have liked to watch longer, but he was well aware he had to keep moving. He ducked under a stray spell and made his way around the water-shield, sending a Stunner into the Death Eater's side before they could try to combat it.

Another fireball went soaring, but was deflected off into another section of the campsite.

Harry heard a spell and ducked, knowing there wasn't time to try to block it. He tried to Disarm one of the Death Eaters closing in on Charlie, and missed. The other three Death Eaters had loosely surrounded Charlie, and were only paying attention to Harry when they had to block one of his spells, or, to flick something his way. Harry got the impression they were doing it to keep him distracted, rather than because they were trying to actually hurt him; he was sure one of the spells he blocked was a relatively harmless Jelly-Legs Jinx. But, harmless or not, the spells were doing what they were meant to; they were keeping him from being of any use to Charlie, and they were keeping him there, in the one place.

"Go!" Charlie shouted, and Harry wondered if he'd worked out the same thing.

It was the best option; Charlie's fire was brilliant, but he was obviously tiring, and Harry thought that was probably what they were waiting for. If Harry left, though, surely at least one of them would have to follow him and that would improve Charlie's odds. Harry knew all that, and yet, it seemed wrong to run, was frustrating that he didn't know any big, game-changing spells, or spells like Charlie's fire that would let him deal with multiple opponents at once.

"Harry, go!" Charlie said, more urgently.

Harry ground his teeth together, turned, and ran.

* * *

"... and you two and Ron showed up not long after," Ginny said, hugging herself. Marlene looked over to Fred, who was sitting very still while Dora traced her wand over his injured shoulder. George was holding his twin's hand in a white-knuckled grip, and Ron was sitting beside them, trembling slightly from the Cruciatus Curse he'd been under when Marlene and Dora happened across him.

Marlene had been young during the first war and her Order days. She'd fought then so that things would be better for herself and for her friends, had fought because what the Death Eaters were doing was wrong. She'd thought nothing of how young she was because she, like all teenagers, had been sure she was grown-up and mature enough to make her own choices. Looking at the four Weasleys - all pale and quiet, with tense, solemn expressions, and eyes that kept flicking to the dark trees, and fingers curled tightly around wands - Marlene knew she really had grown-up, if only because she felt sickened by the thought of these _children_ having to fight. Even Dora, who was an Auror that had gone on to do a year of extra study, who was married and a soon-to-be-mother, seemed too young to be caught up in all this. And yet, she was older than Marlene had been during her Order days.

"How's that?" Dora asked, giving Fred's shoulder a gentle touch.

"Better," Fred said, though he still looked rather uncomfortable.

"Ron?"

"M'fine." Marlene raised her eyebrows rather than say anything, but Ron seemed to hear it anyway; he moved as if to shrug her disbelief off, then winced, and looked away.

"Not much more we can do here, anyway," Dora sighed, easing herself up off her log-seat. She pressed a hand to the small of her back and pulled a face, then made her ginger way over to Marlene. "Are the Anti-Apparition wards still up?" Marlene twisted, focusing on a spot a few feet away, and went nowhere. She nodded. "Bugger."

"You're not supposed to be Apparating anyway," Marlene reminded her.

"I'd risk it tonight," Dora muttered, and though she was scowling, Marlene knew it was hiding a large deal of worry; Dora had barely argued when Remus suggested she find somewhere safe in the woods while he helped out, and Dora had been visibly relieved when Marlene offered to accompany her.

"I'd let you," Marlene said, and got an amused look in return.

Then, several things happened very quickly:

Ginny and Ron both twitched and looked sharply toward the trees as a yellow spell streaked toward where Marlene, Dora, and Ginny were standing. In the split second it took for Marlene to realise she didn't recognise the spell and therefore didn't know whether she'd be able to block it and so decided to move out of the way, Ginny had already ducked, so Marlene reached for Dora and tried to pull her aside. Dora, to her credit, tried, but either couldn't move that way because of her belly, or couldn't move quickly enough. The spell caught her just above her heart and she toppled with a gasp.

Marlene didn't think. She lifted her wand in the direction the spell had come from, and, while there was no robed figure standing there, there was a slight warping to the air, like a bad disillusionment charm.

She cast.

It was not like the last time she'd cast the spell, down in the holding cells with Sirius all those years ago. Then, she'd been desperate and half-mad with old grief, but ultimately unconvinced. This time as her mind screamed about Dora and the baby and the Weasley kids, she was unwavering in her conviction.

Her spell was sickly green and deadly accurate. She heard a thump as their attacker hit the ground and didn't spare them even a moment's thought after that; she spun to see Ginny lying awkwardly under Dora, like she'd tried to catch her and not been strong enough.

Dora was convulsing and not breathing. Marlene left Ginny where she was.

" _Finite_ ," she said urgently. Dora arched, gasping, and then went very still. Marlene could see her breath misting faintly in the night air.

She flicked her wand and her silvery lioness burst into being.

"Sirius," she said, "send Kreacher to the coordinates on my Sidekick, _now_."

* * *

The boy ducked just in time for Dmitri's Stunner to pass above his shoulder, and spun, his own wand coming up. He didn't look like much - just another lanky, scruffy teenager, really - but Dmitri knew this was the boy who, through luck or skill or both, had thwarted his Lord and Wormtail several times. He was not to be underestimated.

That didn't mean Dmitri couldn't have a bit of fun with him, though.

"Hello, Harry Potter," he said, spinning his wand between his fingers.

"Dmitri," Potter said, sounding rather resigned. Dmitri's eyebrows twitched upward before he could try to stop them.

"Know me, do you?" he asked.

"Maybe," Potter said. "Or maybe it was just a lucky guess."

 _Not to be underestimated_ , Dmitri reminded himself. He took a slight step to the right, and the boy mirrored him, eyes as green and sharp as pine needles. There was an intensity to them that made Dmitri glad that Harry Potter wasn't going to live much longer; he was troublesome now, but in another year or two, he'd be a genuine problem.

Potter's eyes moved ever so slightly to something behind Dmitri, then back again. Dmitri ducked, then rolled as one spell streaked up from behind him, and Potter flung something red - perhaps a Stunner, perhaps a Disarmer. Dmitri rolled back onto his feet, swatting away a third spell:

The godfather had arrived, and he looked… displeased. Dmitri, though, was more displeased.

" _Avada Kedavra_." Black's wand twitched and a tangle of canvas and rope sprang up into the spell's path, then flung itself at Dmitri, who ducked it and then cast a quick shield to protect him from whatever Potter had just flung at him.

"You know," Black said, baring his teeth in a distinctly feral way, "it's frowned upon to have any important conversations with minors without their parent or guardian present." Dmitri flicked another killing curse in the man's direction, to show how little he cared about parents or guardians. "Sorry it took me so long," he added, glancing briefly at Potter, who waved a hand as if to dismiss the apology.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Dmitri said again, and Black twisted out of the way and sent something bright orange and nasty looking back. Dmitri conjured a wall of stone to take the spell for him, then shattered it and sent the sharp pieces back toward Black.

Black flicked his wand and they changed into water, which soaked him, but left him otherwise unharmed.

Potter muttered something and Dmitri swept his spell away before it go anywhere near him, then shot a Stunner, a Confundus and a Body-Bind at the boy in quick succession. The Stunner he blocked with a _Protego_ , and the Confundus he darted aside to avoid, but the Body-Bind caught him in the hip and he went down. Dmitri's mouth curled up slightly, then he dove for Potter, intending to Apparate them both away, but Black seemed to have anticipated that; Dmitri's fingers were a mere inch from Potter's unmoving shoulder, when Dmitri was yanked into the air by his ankle.

He cursed, parried Black's next hex, and cast a hasty counterspell - Wormtail had used this one on him in the past, and he knew how to free himself from it. He landed- not gracefully, but on his feet at least, and Black's spell streaked past him, too low to be of much use at all.

" _Gelius!_ " Dmirti barked, and the spell caught Black unawares. It was a pity that this was the one that made contact, and not one of the killing curses from earlier, but it was a good second; it hit Black's wand arm, and his wand clattered to the ground as his hand paled and froze. Black hunched over, presumably in pain, and Dmitri smirked, lifting his wand-

Potter dove in front of Black.

Dmitri felt his smirk curdle; it seemed Black's last spell _had_ done something after all.

"Harry," Black said through gritted teeth, as Potter straightened, taking a distinctly protective stance. He didn't look as afraid as Dmitri would have liked, and there was something defiant in the set of his jaw. Black hissed and fumbled for his wand with his unfrozen hand.

Dmitri shifted his wand, and Potter shifted to block his godfather from sight again.

"Move, boy," he said. "I'll go through you if I have to." And he would. The Dark Lord wouldn't like it very much, but he'd come around; dead at Dmitri's hand would still be dead.

"No, you won't," Potter said. "Voldemort wants me alive-"

"There is nothing he wants less," Dmitri said, amused.

"He'd rather me be alive than killed by someone else," Potter said, arching an eyebrow. "It's only his mercy that's kept you alive these past few months, Dmitri." His voice was soft, and utterly unlike Dmitri's Lord's, but the words were the same, and they chilled him. "Do you really think he'd be merciful if you killed me?"

Dmitri snarled but he was cold inside, and he thought Potter knew it. He took some comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one; Black's eyes were on the boy as well, and he looked unnerved.

There was movement behind Dmitri and he spun in time to block a spell from the Auror who'd just arrived, but then something hit him in the back. He went rigid and then he was falling forward.

A Body-Bind. It seemed Potter had a sense of humour, the little-

"Nicely done, Potter." Ropes wound around Dmitri, and a hand missing its smallest finger tugged the wand out of Dmitri's stiff hand. "All right, Black?"

"His arm…" Potter said.

"Gelius," Black said tersely, and there were footsteps and a sigh of relief. Dmitri's muscles relaxed long enough for someone to pull him into a sitting position, and then the Body-Bind crawled over him again. The Auror stepped back to look down at him.

"Who's this?"

"Dmitri Polkov," Black said, massaging his hand. It was very pink, Dmitri noted with satisfaction. He hoped it was hurting. "One of Voldemort's." The Auror made an unimpressed sound. "Nice timing, by the way." The Auror smiled wryly, then and withdrew something golden from his pocket.

He murmured something Dmitri didn't catch to open it, then said, "It's Robards - are the Anti-Apparition wards down? We've got one."

"Not yet." The voice on the other end sounded distinctly frustrated. "Weasley got here a few minutes ago and reckons he's nearly through, though, so-" But before Dmitri could hear any more the Auror - Robards - frowned at him and moved out of earshot.

"Don't suppose you want to make this easy for everyone and just tell us what the point of tonight was and where Voldemort is and what he's planning?" Black crouched down beside Dmitri and poked him in the cheek with his wand. At first, Dmitri thought it was an intimidation tactic, but then he realised Black had removed the Body-Bind from his face. He spat at Black, who hopped back out of the way, scowling.

"Tonight was to remind the world of the Dark Lord's power and influence," Dmitri said. "I would have thought that was obvious."

"And Harry?" Black asked. Behind him, Potter watched on with a stony expression. "What did you want with him?"

"He said it himself," Dmitri said, smiling at Potter. "My Lord wants him dead, and he wants to do it himself. I was going to facilitate that. He would have rewarded me beyond-"

"What do you reckon your reward for getting caught'll be?" Potter interrupted, cocking his head to the side.

Dmitri just smiled. He'd been caught, and he was sure to be reprimanded for it, but he wouldn't _stay_ caught. Wormtail would free him before they could get him to the Ministry, or Crouch would free him once they got there. They didn't have a choice; he knew too much, and, while he'd be able to hold out against Veritaserum for a little while, he didn't like his chances long term. And if they brought a Legillimens in, which he was sure they were bound to, he could only last for so long… No, Dmitri knew too much to be left with the Ministry, was too important.

It was a heady feeling, and reassuring. Any of the other Death Eaters - save Wormtail, or Crouch - were disposable, but Dmitri had served his Lord well, had held his confidence, and therefore could not be left behind.

As if summoned by Dmitri's thinking of him, Dmitri saw Wormtail's head peer out around a tent several rows away.

His smile widened.

Robard rejoined Potter and Black.

"Wards'll be down soon," he said. "Then we move him."

"We'll see him to the holding cells," Black said, "but then we've got to get to St Mungo's." He rubbed a hand across his chin. Robards nodded, but Potter looked at him, apparently afraid, for the first time all night.

"Who?" he asked, and actually sounded like the child he was. "Not Charlie?" Black shook his head. "Padfoot."

"Dora," Black said gruffly. "Fred too."

"Dora- but-"

Wormtail hadn't moved from his place behind the tent. Dmitri wouldn't expect him to, necessarily; Wormtail wasn't known for taking risks, and one against two Aurors and Potter weren't odds Wormtail would like. But the way Dmitri saw it, he didn't have a choice; Wormtail either had to do something regardless of the odds, or he had to go and find a few extra people to even the odds.

"Robards." Robards had his golden contraption out again.

"They're down," the voice on the other end said. Dmitri looked to Wormtail; with his hearing, he ought to have heard that and would know it was now or never.

Sure enough, Wormtail was a row closer than before, and drew his wand even as Dmitri watched, expression grim.

The other three were facing Dmitri now, making their way over, and none of them had noticed Wormtail yet. Green bloomed at the tip of Wormtail's, and Dmitri's smile turned smug.

 _Black, or Robards_? Dmitri wondered.

He died before he could realise Wormtail hadn't been targeting either.


	8. St Mungo's

Hermione was found, quite by chance, by Percy Weasley. Mrs Malfoy had seemed rather pleased to see the back of her, or, perhaps glad to hand her over if it meant seeing the back of a blood traitor. Mr Malfoy and Hydrus had been too preoccupied with their injuries - a blood nose and a fat lip, respectively - to do or say anything, and Draco had been quiet but for a perfunctory, "See you on the train."

Hermione wrapped the dressing gown Mrs Malfoy had loaned her - or, rather, given her, since Hermione doubted she'd want it back - more tightly around herself, and followed Percy away from the tent.

The campsite was a different sort of chaos than it had been earlier; the Death Eaters were gone, and there was significantly less spellfire, but there were also a lot more people out and about, either trying to pack up their ruined tents, or calling out for missing family members or friends. Hermione pressed herself a little closer to Percy.

"Are you all right?" Percy asked. Hermione nodded, eyes on a young girl who was crying and calling out for her parents, while a concerned-looking Auror trailed after her.

"Do you know where the others ended up?"

"St Mungo's," Percy said, the corners of his mouth turning down. Hermione's insides, which had been doing funny little flips for the last hour or so she'd spent in the tent with the Malfoys, froze. "I don't have details," Percy said, a little hoarsely. "I was sticking around to find you, and then was going to head over, but I can drop you home first, if you'd prefer…?"

"No," Hermione said, so quickly and forcefully that Percy's eyebrows shot up; she could only imagine what her parents would have to say if she showed up with a borrowed dressing gown over her torn, smoky clothes. Better they didn't find out. "I… um… want to see everyone."

Thankfully, Percy seemed to accept that. He led her through the campsite to where a group of Ministry witches and wizards had set up a portkey station.

"Quicker to portkey," he muttered, when she gave him a questioning look. "I imagine the normal entrance'll be overflowing this morning."

He'd no sooner said it than slumped sideways onto her shoulder. Hermione let out a cry of surprise and did her best to hold him up.

"St Mungo's?" one of the wizards on duty asked, waving them past.

"Please," Percy said hoarsely, dragging his feet along. A witch hurried over and pressed a hairbrush into Hermione's hand. Percy reached out weakly and pressed a finger to it, and then it flared blue and bore them away.

Hermione stumbled upon landing, and Percy - standing straight and healthy again - caught her arm to steady her. They were in a white-walled waiting room filled with muddy, anxious people wearing various Quidditch themed scarves and shirts and jumpers.

"This way," Percy said.

"Did you just _pretend-_ "

"My family are here and I don't know what for," Percy said briskly. "I'm wasn't about to waste time trying to negotiate a portkey-"

"Excuse me!" A Healer in lime green robes materialised in front of them with her hands on her hips. "You'll have to wait-"

"Percy Weasley," Percy said. He drew himself up and looking down at the Healer as if he were still Head Boy and she were a student caught out of bed after hours. "My family are here." The Healer's eyes flickered to his hair, and she excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she was grim-faced, and Hermione's heart clenched.

"Spell Damage ward," she said. "Fourth floor." Percy gave her a stiff nod of thanks, and led Hermione to the lift.

They rode up in silence and stepped out into an corridor that was empty but for Harry and Marlene, who were talking in quiet, tense voices. Harry was already watching the lift - Hermione supposed he must have heard it - and closed his eyes briefly when he spotted them, some of his tension seeming to drain away. Hermione stumbled forward over the hem of her too-long dressing gown and flung her arms around him.

He hugged her back, and, Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes; she was safe, and Harry was here, and he was safe too. Percy murmured something Hermione didn't catch.

"... of course," Marlene said. "Let Bill and Arthur know they can stop looking and leave the campsite - Percy's found Hermione and she's here with us." There was a bright flash of silver.

"Draco?" Harry asked.

Hermione pulled back and wiped her eyes.

"Safe with his family," she said. Harry nodded. Behind him, Percy hurried off down the corridor, and Hermione's heart crawled into her throat and threatened to choke her.

"Who's…?"

"Ron, Fred, and Charlie," Harry said grimly. "They're all right." His eyes flicked to the door nearest to them, the one Marlene was standing beside, and his whole expression changed. "And Dora."

"Dora?" Hermione asked, feeling ill; Harry had not said she was all right, or that the baby was. "But- the baby?"

"Not-" He cleared his throat and looked away. "It's bad, I think."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione pulled him in for another hug, on her tiptoes this time so that they were closer to the same height and he could rest his head against her shoulder. He was shaking, his breaths rough and uneven, like he was trying not to fall apart. In all the years they'd known each other, she'd seen him angry and scared and stubborn and worried and in pain, but she didn't think she'd ever seen him like this. She felt like crying, but she knew Harry would feel like he ought to be comforting her if she did, so she kept herself under control.

"There's still a chance," Marlene said quietly, from behind them. She reached forward to brush her fingers through Harry's hair, and then they slid down to squeeze Hermione's shoulder. Her eyes were dark and tired, and she didn't sound all that hopeful.

Harry cleared his throat and stepped back, his eyes dry, but red.

"We should go and let the others know you're safe," he said. As Percy had just gone to join the others, Hermione was fairly sure they'd already know, but if Harry wanted an excuse to be somewhere else, then he could have it.

"Okay," she said. Harry looked at Marlene, who pulled him into a quick sideways hug.

"As soon as there's news," she said, answering whatever unspoken question had been in his look.

The Weasleys had commandeered an entire room. Ron was in the bed on the left looking pale, and Ginny and George sat on chairs in the space between him and Fred's bed - Ginny was fast asleep, and George didn't look far off it himself. Fred was propped up against his pillows and shirtless, with a nasty red and purple bruise covering most of his shoulder, and his arm in a sling. Percy had settled in a chair between George and Charlie's bed, and Charlie had a black eye, and a painful looking burn on his left cheek and neck. He was being fussed over by Mrs Weasley, at least until Mrs Weasley noticed Hermione and Harry.

"Hermione, dear," she said, and swept Hermione into a warm hug. "We were so worried…"

"I'm fine, really," Hermione said. Mrs Weasley patted her cheek, then dragged Harry in for a hug.

"Mrs Weasley, you've already seen me," he said, but Hermione didn't think he minded.

"You looked like you needed another one," she said, and Hermione could have sworn Harry's arms tightened around her.

Hermione turned away, eyes landing on Ron, and found herself tearing up again.

"I'm all right!" Ron said hastily. "A bit roughed up, but fine, really, Hermione. Don't cry…"

"We lost you," she said, sitting down on the end of his bed. "I was so worried..." Up close, she could see Ron was trembling ever so slightly, and she didn't think it was from emotion. She wiped her eyes. "What did they do to you?"

"'S nothing," he said. "You should see the other guy."

"Really?" Hermione asked, sniffing.

"Yeah. He was a puddle by the time Marlene and Dora finished with him." Hermione let out a shaky laugh and Ron looked pleased with himself, but a shadowy look had come into his eyes when he mentioned Dora's name. Hermione reached out and took his hand, as much to comfort him as to take comfort for herself. Ron squeezed her fingers.

"Draco's all right," she said.

"Good," Ron replied. "Although- er- Malfoy might be feeling a bit sorry for himself." Hermione, who'd seen Hydrus in the tent and knew for a fact that he was, just raised her eyebrows. "I might've punched him," Ron said. "Mouthy little git."

"Ron!"

"Like you can talk," he said, grinning, and Hermione laughed, a little sheepishly. Ron grinned again, then looked over her shoulder and grew serious. Just from the look on his face, Hermione could tell he was looking at Harry. "Any news about Dora?"

"Harry said it wasn't looking good." Ron's face fell. As if summoned by his name - and with his hearing, it was likely he had been - Harry wandered over and squeezed onto the bed beside Ron, Hermione shuffling aside to make room for his feet.

Bill and Mr Weasley entered the room then, both looking exhausted, and Hermione was equally guilty and grateful; they'd been at the campsite looking for her if Marlene's patronus was anything to go by. Mr Weasley came to pat her shoulder, and then sat on the end of Fred's bed to ask how he was feeling. Bill had gone to Charlie and the pair of them were having a quiet laugh at something Hermione couldn't hear.

They were warm and safe, and the Healers were surely doing everything they could for Dora and her baby. It had been an impossibly long day - it seemed like years ago that they'd caught the portkey with the Diggorys and arrived at the World Cup - and Hermione's eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

In the chair beside her, Ginny started to twitch and hiss in her sleep, and Hermione jerked awake again, disconcerted. George had glanced over at her too, frowning. Ginny's face scrunched up, and for a moment Hermione thought she might scream or cry, but then Harry leaned over and shook her awake.

Ginny rounded on him, hissing again, then blinked and looked around sleepily.

"Bad dream, Gin?" George asked.

She nodded, mumbling something that might have been an apology, and then settled back into her chair again, eyes tired but resolutely open. Then she mumbled something else - this time, Hermione had no idea what - but Harry nodded and she wondered if it had been directed at him.

Hermione thought she must have dozed off again, though she had no idea how long for, because the next thing she was aware of was that she was curled up on the end of Ron's bed, and that she could hear Mrs Weasley's voice:

"Anyone that's not a patient," Mrs Weasley said gently, but firmly, "ought to get home to bed." Bed sounded wonderful to Hermione, and she pushed herself up off her lumpy pillow - Ron's blanket covered legs - and sat up, yawning. Ron had fallen asleep on Harry's shoulder but Harry didn't look like he'd slept at all. Ginny stumbled to her feet, looking like she was awake only by sheer force of will.

"You too, George, dear," Mrs Weasley said, and George shot his mother a look that dared her to make him leave his twin. They stared - or in George's case glared - at each other until Mrs Weasley's expression softened and she made a gesture of surrender.

Hermione shuffled out into the corridor behind Ginny, Bill, and Percy, while Mrs Weasley called out a soft good night.

* * *

 _He was displeased, but he understood - that was all that had kept Wormtail alive. Polkov had been an annoyance, hadn't know his place, but he'd been useful, and to lose him would be another setback... Less of a setback than if he'd been taken alive and forced to reveal Lord Voldemort's location to the Ministry, but a setback nonetheless._

 _Lord Voldemort did not like setbacks, and he was not-_

"Psst."

And just like that, he was Harry again, blinking tiredly and glancing toward the door and the source of the noise. He hadn't been asleep, but he'd been out of it enough that Voldemort's thoughts had crept in, and he'd been too busy listening to Voldemort rant and rage and Wormtail scream to hear Padfoot arrive; he was leaning in the doorway of the Weasleys' hospital room, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and fixed on Harry. Dread filled Harry at the sight of him, but then Harry noticed he didn't look any sadder than when Harry had last seen him, and relaxed a bit. Padfoot tilted his head in a _come here_ sort of way, obviously not wanting to speak and wake the Weasleys.

Harry moved carefully off Ron's bed; when Hermione'd left, he'd claimed her spot at the foot of it. Ron barely stirred, and none of the other sleeping Weasleys did either. Harry padded out to join Padfoot in the corridor.

He smelled tired - which was probably a given since it was Merlin-knew-what-time in the morning - and drained and grim, and pulled Harry in for a hug when he reached him.

"Dora?" Harry mumbled into Padfoot's robes.

"Better - she's tough," Padfoot whispered. Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief. Padfoot released Harry and put a hand on his shoulder to steer him down the corridor… away from Dora's room, though, not toward it.

"Where-?"

"I need tea and food," Padfoot said. "Figured you probably would as well." Harry was too tired to be hungry, but he trailed after his godfather anyway.

"How's the baby?" he asked. The corners of Padfoot's mouth turned down, but the aching pain in his scent was worse. Harry's stomach curled itself into a painfully tight little ball and plummeted.

"They're doing what they can," Padfoot said, but his voice was so bleak Harry couldn't find any comfort in the words.

They didn't speak again until they were in the tearoom. They were the only two in there, except for the cashier, but she'd merely taken their orders and gone back to the long letter she was penning behind the counter. Padfoot had a large cup of tea in front of him and was tearing an enormous blueberry muffin apart. Harry's own muffin sat untouched, and he had a sip of his weak tea, then pushed it away, thoughts on the baby. Padfoot watched the movement.

"I'm sorry," he said. Harry glanced at him. "Seems like every time something blows up, I'm too caught up in other things to make sure you're all right." He must have smelled Harry's confusion, because he added, "After the end of term, I wasn't in any state to be of much use to you, and tonight I've been in with Dora. We _still_ haven't really talked about last term, but you've seemed all right so I haven't pushed it, but tonight I didn't want to leave you..."

"I'm fine," Harry said, still confused.

"You saw a man die."

"Voldemort wasn't happy," Harry said. Padfoot had a funny look on his face. "Not about me seeing it," Harry clarified, and under different circumstances might even have laughed at the notion that Voldemort would be displeased by Harry being exposed to any sort of horror, "but just about it happening at all."

"Frankly," Padfoot said, "I don't care much right now _what_ Voldemort thinks about it. I care what you think, about if you're upset by what you saw-"

"I'm not," Harry said, and was fairly sure it was the truth. "I mean, it's not what I wanted to happen, because I was hoping we'd be able to get answers out of him, but… well, he's one less person we've got to go up against, one less person to help Voldemort, or hurt people on our side… or hurt anyone, really… I- I know it's not a good thing, but- well- it's not really a _bad_ thing." Padfoot's expression was grim, and Harry, suddenly worried, added, "Is it?"

It was a genuine question, and one that hadn't occurred to Harry until that very moment.

"No," Padfoot said slowly. "No, it's not." Harry nodded, relieved. Padfoot studied him. "Why weren't you sure?" Harry shrugged, eyes on his muffin. Padfoot's foot found his under the table, and nudged it once, twice, and then a third time before Harry reluctantly looked up. Padfoot's eyes were gentle, but curious. Unable to meet them for long, Harry looked away again.

"Just… I dunno, maybe I _should_ be more upset, or shaken, or something. Maybe I spend too much time dreaming I'm… him that I'm starting to think the way he would." He couldn't bring himself to look at Padfoot, worried he'd see him considering what Harry had just said, or worse, nodding his agreement.

"I can't say whether you should or shouldn't be more upset or shaken," Padfoot said, after a moment. "Only you can know how you really feel, and if you're okay, then I'm okay with that. As far as you thinking like Voldemort… I think you do, in some ways." Harry might have been sick if his stomach hadn't been so empty. The only thing that kept him from fleeing the table was that Padfoot didn't sound angry, or disgusted. "When you were talking to Polkov," Padfoot continued, "the things you were saying… you understand him, how he thinks. With things as they are at the moment, with us either at war or well on our way towards it… I don't think that's a bad thing."

Padfoot pushed a bit of muffin around his plate, then glanced up.

"In other ways, you're not like him at all. Voldemort wouldn't have stepped in front of one of his own the way you did with me tonight- or- last night." Padfoot pulled a face. "You know what I mean. And I guarantee he hasn't had a sleepless morning waiting to hear that his lot are all okay. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "Speaking of me stepping between you and Polkov-" He glanced at Padfoot's face and was both surprised and relieved to see he looked curious, and not irritated or exasperated. Padfoot seemed to guess what he was thinking, because he smiled wryly. "-why'd you undo the Body-Bind on me instead of just dealing with him? He hadn't cursed you yet, you could have-"

Padfoot sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his cheeks and chin, and said, "He'd only have had to get a hand on you and it would've all been over." He shook his head. "I couldn't take that chance."

"But because you helped me, you got hit," Harry said. "If it had been a killing curse and not-"

"I know." Padfoot's face was grim, and his scent made it clear that any further discussion about the matter would be both unnecessary and unwelcome. Harry stirred his cold tea, trying and failing to not think about the what-ifs.

"I need to be better," Harry said eventually. Padfoot raised his eyebrows. "Last night, I- with Charlie, I was useless. I know spells, they're either _too_ dangerous-" He thought of Snape's _Sectumsempra_ , or the _Incendios_ he'd got so good at as a kid. He'd seen with Charlie just how effective fire could be, but Harry didn't have the control, which hadn't mattered in the cave with the Inferi, but at a campsite where there were innocent people about... "-or they're not good for duelling, they're just- and against multiple people… The most helpful thing I could do was leave him so I wouldn't be a distraction, and try to lure a few of them away."

"I reckon Charlie must be uncommonly skilled," Padfoot said. "I mean, I've been trying to convince you to run away from this sort of thing for years…" Harry glowered. "Poor taste?"

"Just a bit," Harry muttered.

"I'm glad you didn't run tonight," Padfoot said after a pause. "The godfather in me's horrified, of course, but that's twice now that you being there's kept me alive."

"Twice?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I know about last term," Padfoot said. "Snape told me."

"Oh." Harry shifted uncomfortably. Padfoot hadn't ever brought it up, so Harry hadn't known what he'd known or remembered. And Harry - who'd gone against what he'd been told to run wandless, to Padfoot's defence, then used Padfoot's wand to cast a dark spell on Wormtail - hadn't been entirely unhappy with leaving things undiscussed.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door to the tearoom squealed open, and Harry and Padfoot both glanced up at the sound of familiar footsteps; Moony.

He looked terrible - worse than after any full moon Harry had seen - but there was a strange sort of intensity about him despite that, and he beelined straight for their table. The cashier, sucking on the end of her quill, didn't even look up.

Worried, Harry sniffed the air, but there was no grief in Moony's scent, just a strange determination.

"Marlene's about to head off to work if you want to catch her," Moony said. Padfoot watched him for a moment, then nodded and stood rubbing his eyes.

"I might go in with her," he said. "Merlin knows they'll need the staff this morning." He ruffled Harry's hair. "You can Floo home or get Kreacher to grab you, or just stay with Moony, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Moony lowered himself into the empty chair opposite Harry as Padfoot left.

"Muffin?" Harry offered, eyes on the door.

"Thank you." Moony pulled a chunk off and stuffed it into his mouth. "How are you faring?"

"Me?" Harry said, stunned. "Moony, don't worry about me, I'm fine - worry about you, and Dora, and your kid-" Moony's smile was faint but fond.

"I'm worried about Dora and both of my kids," Moony said, "but you're the only one I can do anything for at the moment, so here I am." Harry's throat was suddenly tight, not because he was touched by Moony's words - though he was - but because of the awful helplessness that had entered Moony's scent.

"I'm all right," Harry said. "Really."

"Sirius told me about Polkov, and Marlene said Ron, Fred, and Charlie were all hurt."

"They'll be all right," Harry said. "Polkov not so much, but…" He shrugged, and Moony seemed to understand.

"I'm glad." Moony studied him. "I worried you might be blaming yourself, and I had a whole speech planned out to get you to see sense if Sirius hadn't managed. It was going to be revenge for that night at-" Moony cleared his throat. "-at the camp."

Harry remembered it vividly; it had been the night he'd learned of Dora's pregnancy, and that Moony had run off, and he'd gone and shouted at him about it. He tried to smile, but didn't quite manage it. Moony rubbed a hand over his eyes, and Harry smelled salt.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, swallowing. "This shouldn't- it's not fair that-" He cleared his throat and looked down, then tried again. "The baby, it..." Words failed him again.

"She," Moony said hoarsely, into the silence that followed. Harry looked up. "A girl, if… if she…" He wiped his eyes again, and sniffed.

Harry, whose vision was also rather blurry, got up and dragged his seat around to the space beside Moony's.

And there they sat, side by side in the brightly lit St Mungo's tearoom, waiting, and hoping, until a teary Andromeda Tonks came looking for Remus.


	9. Sister, Brother, Friend

Stella Juniper Lupin was born just before dawn after the four-hundred-and-twenty-second Quidditch World Cup, at St Mungo's Hospital. It had been an impossibly quick and easy birth thanks to Dora's metamorphmagus abilities, or so he overheard the Healers saying later. But to Harry, who didn't know much about births and had opted to keep it that way and waited in the corridor while Moony and Andromeda went back in to help or watch or whatever people did during birthings, those twenty minutes had seemed to take an age.

Finally, the door swung open, and Moony's patronus, huge and dazzlingly bright burst into the corridor. Moony himself stumbled out after it, looking dazed.

He stopped about two feet from Harry and blinked, apparently lost for words, then managed to say, "I'm a father." He didn't sound like he quite believed it, but there was a fierce joy in his scent, warm as sunshine and infectious as laughter. Harry smiled. "A father." In a very un-Moony-like manner he suddenly closed the distance between himself and Harry, yanked him into a hug, and spun him around. Harry laughed, and Moony put him down, suddenly smelling sheepish. "I- would you like to meet your godsister?"

 _Godsister_. Harry was lost for words, but Moony seemed to understand. He put an arm around Harry and guided him inside.

The room smelled faintly of blood and cleaning spells, and a new scent, a soft, warm one, that Harry's wolf-nose immediately identified as 'baby'. Andromeda and a pair of Healers were fussing over Dora, and Ted was in a chair beside Dora's bed, holding the hand of the arm she didn't have wrapped around the tiny, moving bundle that was her daughter.

She was pale and looked tired, but she was awake and healthy-looking, which was more than could be said for the last time he'd seen her. Her hair was bright pink, and curly and her smile widened when she spotted Harry.

"All right," Andromeda said, rather impatiently. "Harry's here, I want to know her name!"

"Everyone," Dora said, "meet Elvendork." Andromeda's head snapped up, and Harry stared, until Moony snorted and Dora laughed. "Joking, joking-"

"Your daughter's name isn't a joke, Nymphadora," Andromeda snapped.

"Says the woman that picked _Nymphadora_ ," Dora muttered, and Harry saw Ted hide a smile. "Stella," she said. "Stella Juniper Lupin." For all her joking, Dora followed her announcement with a nervous look at her mother. "It's not too long, and it's not too old-fashioned, but it's- Remus and I thought it'd be nice to give a bit of a nod to the old Black tradition of star names…"

"It's lovely," Andromeda said, dabbing at her eyes. Dora beamed, then pulled her hand free of her father's to gesture at Harry to come over. He inched closer to the bed, holding his breath.

Stella was even smaller than Harry had expected, with a pink, scrunched, little face that reminded Harry a bit of the gnomes at the Burrow - not that he'd ever, ever say so - and a tuft of brown hair atop her head. As he watched, she moved slightly in her blankets and one of her tiny hands curled into a fist.

Harry loved her immediately.

* * *

Sirius crossed out yet another line, smothered a yawn with the back of his hand, then re-dipped his quill in ink and tried again.

This time the night before, he and Robards had been patrolling the World Cup's noisy, busy campsite, confiscating love potions from avid Quidditch fans, and stepping in to settle the odd disagreement before it got out of hand.

His library at Grimmauld was far, far quieter; Kreacher was downstairs preparing a very late dinner, and Harry was yet to emerge from his room; he'd been using the day to catch up on the sleep he'd lost the night before. Sirius was more than a little envious; he'd gone straight from work that morning to meet his new niece, but been sent home by Dora after he'd fallen asleep in the visitor's chair. He'd napped when he got home, of course - long gone were the days where he could pull an all-nighter and still function properly, and he knew that - but he'd forced himself to get up much sooner than he'd wanted to; he had too much to do.

Sirius sighed and scratched out another couple of words. He'd been at it an hour, and so far, all he was happy with was:

 _To Mr Rufus Scrimgeour,_

 _It is with the utmost regret that I write this letter to inform you of my resignation as an Auror of the Ministry of Magic._

He massaged his forehead with his free hand and sighed again mouth turning down as his eyes fell on his Sidekick, which sat on the table beside his inkwell.

 _I no longer feel-_ Sirius paused, then scribbled that out.

There was a creak on the stairs, and then the library door squeaked as it opened. Harry wandered in in his pyjamas, looking sleepy in a well-rested sort of way. His pyjamas had been new at the beginning of the holidays, to replace the ones he'd outgrown last year, and already the trousers were short enough that they were showing all of Harry's ankles. Teenage growth spurts were beyond ridiculous, in Sirius' opinion.

"Evening," Harry mumbled, and came to sit at the table. Sirius folded his letter as casually as he could manage, and Harry's eyes went to it. Not sharply, or curiously, though, as Sirius had expected; it seemed as if his eyes had gone to the movement reflexively, but not really bothered to focus on it.

"Evening," Sirius said in reply, and Harry gave no indication that he'd heard. "Everything okay?"

"Mmm," Harry said distractedly, but he didn't smell upset, just… lost. After a moment he looked up. "When Regulus joined the Death Eaters, was it because he wanted to, or because he was told to?"

Sirius stared at him.

"Both," he said after a moment, lowering his quill. "Why do you ask?" Harry shrugged, looking away. "A dream?"

"No. I- never mind." Harry made to stand.

"I don't mind you asking," Sirius said, and Harry hesitated. "It just took me by surprise, that's all." Slowly, Harry sat again. "He- my parents never actively took part in the war, but they certainly thought Voldemort had the right of it with his pureblood supremacy rubbish. Reg… he grew up listening to all of that-"

"So did you though, and you never..."

"I went into Gryffindor," Sirius said. "My influences were different to Reg's. And where Andy was my favourite cousin, Reg always loved Cissy and Bella. Bella- well, you've never met Bella and I hope you never have the dubious pleasure-" Honestly, Sirius couldn't imagine anything worse than Harry in the same room as his cousin. "-but she was always very… involved with Voldemort and his lot. His most loyal, she used to call herself-" Loudly and maniacally at all hours of the day and night, when they'd shared a row in Azkaban. "-so that should give you some idea of the sort of person she is."

"You tried to talk him out of it though, right? Why didn't he listen?"

How many times had Sirius asked himself the same thing?

"He didn't think that many people could be wrong," Sirius said. "I was his brother, but it was my word against our parents and cousins and all of his friends, and Reg was always one to go with popular opinion." Until the cave, anyway. "He must have listened a bit, though," Sirius said, more to himself now than Harry, "must have had some doubts... otherwise, he'd have cut off all contact with me, and he never did, and he'd never have done what he did with the locket. I- I wish he was still around, obviously, but he was on the right side in the end-"

"That's too late," Harry said, irritably.

"Better late than never," Sirius snapped, feeling oddly defensive of his little brother.

"That's not what I meant." Harry flapped a hand and Sirius lowered his hackles. "I like Reg, I just-" He slumped in his chair, looking miserable. "Never mind."

"Why are you suddenly curious about Reg?" Sirius asked, gentler this time; Harry knew Reg's story as well as Sirius himself did, so Sirius couldn't imagine why he was suddenly wanting to hear it again. Harry sighed, the bed-tousled ridiculousness of his hair doing absolutely nothing to detract from his troubled expression.

"They want him to be a Death Eater," Harry said, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Reg?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"Draco."

"Oh," Sirius said. "Is he all right?"

"You're not surprised," Harry said, narrowing his eyes

"I wasn't that much older when my parents suggested I join up," Sirius said, shrugging. "And Lucius is far more loyal to the cause than my parents ever were. He was always going to try."

"You ran away when they suggested it to you, though," Harry said quietly.

"Draco's not as impulsive as I am," Sirius said, smiling, but Harry didn't return it. Sirius watched him for a moment. "Are you- worried?"

"No," Harry said, rather unconvincingly, then slumped again. "Maybe."

"About what Lucius might do?"

There was silence for a few moments, and Sirius was about to take it as agreement and suggest they have Snape check on him if Harry was really worried, but then Harry shifted in his chair.

"About what Draco might," Harry admitted. "He-" Harry hesitated. "He was teasing me a bit when we were talking about it, which was normal, but there was something… I dunno, off… about him. Usually he'd be mad that they asked him or something, but he was just… uncomfortable. And Hermione said he was weird when she was with him too, and Mr and Mrs Malfoy were sort of nice to Draco, but every time I've seen them - or Mr Malfoy, anyway - he's been a bit of a git to him."

"So what are you worried about him doing? Joining up?"

"I think he's leading his family on," Harry said, pushing his glasses up. "I offered him Grimmauld if he needs a place, and he said he hoped it wouldn't come to that. I think… I think he doesn't want to upset his family, so he's pretending to think about it, and that's why they're being so nice to him. Only he didn't say to me that that's what he was doing when we were talking about it, so I think he's worried I might not understand, and I think that's why Snape's mad with him."

"Snape?"

"Snape's barely talked to Draco all summer," Harry said. "Draco said they're having a difference in opinion."

"He what?" Sirius asked, stunned.

"He-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard, I just… Merlin." Sirius was suddenly feeling far more concerned about things; Snape had made it very clear in the past that he would side with Draco over Narcissa and Lucius. Snape was playing a careful game with both sides, though Sirius had seen his patronus and knew well enough which side he was actually on. He'd probably encourage Draco to lead his parents on, if only so that he could pretend to Lucius and Narcissa that he was trying to get Draco onto the 'right' side, but if he was having a difference of opinion… "I hate to ask," Sirius began, and really did hate himself for asking, "but have you considered-?"

"-that it might not be them he's leading on?" Harry finished for him. Sirius gave him a grim look, and Harry's mouth turned down at the corners. "Yeah." Harry was quiet for a few moments.

Sirius was struck by just how different he was to James in this. James had never questioned the loyalty of his friends, and would have been furious with anyone that suggested he ought to. He could tell from the look on Harry's face and from his scent that he neither liked the possibility or thought it was likely, but he was considering it, and that was far more than James would have done.

"It's… it's why I wanted to know about Regulus," Harry said, without looking at him. "I- I really don't think- Draco wouldn't, but- they're his family, and if he did- if- I think- I think he'd be like Regulus, and I- that's good, that he'd change his mind, but I wouldn't want him to- to, you know, end up like- I-" Harry'd looked up midway through, as if to better convince Sirius that that would be the case, but he looked down again now. "He's still my friend. Even if he chose- he's still one of us."

And that there, was another difference between Harry and James. Had James known what Wormtail would become, he'd have thrown him out on his backside, and severed all ties. He'd have hated himself for it, but he'd have done it. Lily too - while she'd been more prone to second chances, Sirius only had to think back to her friendship with Snape to know that was the case. Harry, though… despite the high and deeply personal stakes he had in all things Voldemort, Sirius believed that he would still consider Draco a friend if he chose the wrong side.

Across the table, Harry's jaw set, and Sirius realised he'd taken Sirius' silence for doubt or disagreement.

"Peace, Harry," he said, with a gentle smile. "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. I was in touch with Reg all through the war, remember?"

"I don't think he'd really join them," Harry said, almost guiltily. "I'm much more worried that he's going to upset his parents when the truth comes out and that it'll get nasty, but… after what Wormtail did, I- I can't _not_ think about it, you know?"

"All too well," Sirius assured him.

"He was one of you."

" _Was_ ," Sirius said curtly. Harry nodded rather absently, and stood. "Done talking?"

"Mmm. I'm going to the Burrow," he said. Sirius blinked and raised his eyebrows. "Er… _can_ I go to the Burrow?"

"It's late," Sirius said, glancing at the inky sky outside the library's window. Harry looked confused, as if he didn't see how the time had anything to do with wanting to visit his friends. _Teenagers_. "Maybe you can wait until tomorrow?" Harry's expression didn't change. Sirius rolled his eyes fondly and Harry grinned, though it was distracted; he'd likely smelled Sirius' permission, because he was already heading to the door. "Check with Molly and Arthur before you just appear in their kitchen." Not that he really thought Molly or Arthur would mind; Harry was just about a Weasley himself, in all but name and hair.

"All right," Harry said, and wore a funny smile, like he was thinking the same thing.

"And don't keep Ron up too late - he's still recovering from last night."

"I won't!" Harry called back.

Sirius unfolded his letter to Scrimgeour once Harry was gone, and picked up his quill with new purpose.

* * *

The only marriage Alastor had ever been a part of was one to his job as an Auror. He'd never particularly wanted children but he'd a few anyway - trainees from the Auror program that he'd taken under his wing. Most couldn't handle him as a mentor - that took a special breed of trainee - and had moved on to other mentors part-way through their program, but there were three that had stuck it out. The first two were Black and Potter, years ago, now, and he'd had them in the Order of the Phoenix as well. Potter was dead, now, and things had never been quite the same with Black since he went to Azkaban - partly, because Black was well and truly an adult and no longer needed Alastor, and partly because Alastor couldn't help but feel hideously guilty for what had happened to him, even if Black didn't seem to hold a grudge. Alastor had pulled a few strings to arrange for him to be tested and given his job as an Auror back, and done what he could to protect the Potter boy, but nothing would ever be enough.

Nymphadora, though, he'd done right by. If he were the sort of man who had favourites, she'd be his, and not just because was a better Auror than either Black or Potter had ever been.

He'd watched her grow from a nervous, Hogwarts graduate into a confident young trainee, had watched her fall in love, had watched her follow her ambition to France, had attended her wedding and even danced with her there, had faced down Fiendfyre with her at his side.

And, he watched her now - far more nervously than he usually did - as she advanced toward him in a hospital nightgown.

"Expected pink hair," he said gruffly. Nymphadora grinned and set her newborn daughter into his stiff arms; he didn't have the first clue what to do with it, and was worried he'd break it if he moved. The last kid he'd held would have been either Potter or Longbottom, and they were both teenagers now.

Baby Lupin wriggled a little in her blanket and he tightened his grip, lest she somehow tumble out. She opened brown eyes - Lupin's eyes - for a moment, opened her tiny mouth in a yawn, and then her eyes fluttered shut again.

"Are you crying, Mad Eye?" Nymphadora asked, sounding disbelieving.

He _wasn't_. His fake eye obviously had a bit of grit or something on it, and it was irritating the socket, that was all.

"Brought you something," he said, and moved ever so slightly to gesture for her to take the baby back. When she had, he pulled out a bit of parchment. Nymphadora tilted her head, reading.

"Spells?"

"Top one's an eavesdropping charm," he said. "Doesn't work at long distances, and doesn't work on people, only objects, but I thought you might be able to cast it on her cot and on your bedside table, so you'll know if she cries overnight." Nymphadora stared at him. "That one-" he tapped the parchment with a scarred finger. "-won't be useful for a few more months, but it's an alarmed perimeter spell; if she crawls outside it, it'll go off." He cleared his throat and gestured to the rest of the list. "You get the idea."

"It's perfect," Nymphadora said, bright eyed. "Thanks, Mad Eye."

He stayed long enough to see Lupin return to the room with a packed bag, several changes of clothes, and food for the both of them, and then he bid the young couple goodbye and made his way out.

He Apparated from the alley beside the concealed hospital to another alley, this time near the Leaky Cauldron, then to Hogsmeade, and then to a muggle bakery in Dorset. When he was satisfied no one was tailing him, he Apparated to a sheltered park at the end of his street, and began the walk home.

It was all satisfyingly uneventful, at least until he arrived at his front gate. His letterbox was on a slight lean, and there was a dent in the side of it.

Closer to the house, the dustbins were scorched and quivering, and there was rubbish strewn along the lawn. None of his wards had been touched or breached, but he was not alone; someone moved on his doorstep, made bright to his eye by their magic. His wand was on them at once.

"Evening, Mad Eye."


	10. The Same Side

"Come in, Black."

Sirius pushed open the door. Scrimgeour's presence was a given, since it was his office and Sirius had requested a meeting with him, but Robards was unexpected.

"What happened to you?" Robards asked, looking shocked.

"Wh- Oh." Sirius reached up to pat his ear, which was red and swollen despite his best efforts to heal it - in his old age, Mad-Eye relied on obscure contact poisons and potions as well as the standard animation spells. "Run in with a letterbox. Don't ask." Neither of then did. Sirius glanced between them. "Should I come back, or-"

"No, sit." Scrimgeour waved him into the empty seat beside Robards'. "What did you want to discuss?" Sirius glanced at Robards who made no move to excuse himself.

 _So be it._ Grimly, Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out his Sidekick and the envelope containing his letter of resignation, and placed them on the dark wood of Scrimgeour's desk. Scrimgeour's bushy eyebrows rose and he glanced at Robards, but neither of them smelled particularly surprised.

"I'm resigning," Sirius said, figuring they hadn't understood. Scrimgeour made no move to touch the letter.

"Why?" he asked.

"It's all in there," Sirius muttered.

"I want to hear it from you," Scrimgeour said.

"Because I'm going to be spending the next year as a teacher-" He'd expected a bit more resistance - either from Mad Eye or from Dumbledore, but the former had just grunted and said he was supposed to be retired anyway, and the latter had accepted his application with nothing more than a gentle reminder that he'd have to watch out for _all_ of the students not just Harry, and then started making plans about how they could use Mad Eye's sudden abundance of free time to kick-start the Order of the Phoenix again; the events at the World Cup had worried Dumbledore as much as any of them. "-and that's not really of much use to the Auror Department, so…" Throat tight, he nodded at the letter.

"Looking for a change, are you?" Scrimgeour asked curiously. "Change of pace, or-"

"I can't be here, sir," Sirius said bleakly. "Not with everything as it is at the moment." He glanced at Robards; he, at least, would understand why Sirius needed to stay close to Harry this year, especially after how things had played out at the World Cup. And, after his talk with Harry the night before, Sirius thought he'd also use the time to see if there was anything he could do for Draco.

"Fair," Scrimgeour said. "But whyever does that mean you need to resign? The way I see it, we're worried about the same thing."

"You're worried about Harry?" Sirius asked, frowning at him.

"I'm worried about You-Know-Who," Scrimgeour replied. "And his followers, and anyone they might try to harm, your boy included."

"Because of the World Cup?" Sirius asked.

"Amongst other things," he said, and Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"He knows," Robards said, and Sirius glanced at him. "Everything from that day I tied you to the chair in my office to question you about those fake witness letters. About Munch not being Crouch, about everything that happened with Wormtail at the school, about Potter's unfortunate habit of always being in the middle of it…"

"You told?" Sirius asked incredulously. "He was on our witness list." He glanced at Scrimgeour. "Er… no offence, sir."

"None taken." In fact, Scrimgeour looked amused.

"You don't think he'd have come asking questions before now if he wasn't in the know?" Robards asked. "We get a bit of freedom, Black, but not that much - if we'd done it your way, he'd have been in my office after a week, wanting to know what we were working on, what our leads were." He looked amused too. It made an embarrassing amount of sense. Sirius had just been too caught up in Harry and Wormtail and Crouch and Voldemort to stop and consider it.

"Right," Sirius said awkwardly. "So why stay quiet then?"

"I didn't have any concerns," Scrimgeour said, with a slight shrug.

"But you do now?" Sirius asked.

"One," Scrimgeour said. "That Gawain won't be going to Hogwarts with you, so there won't be anyone to give me updates on your behalf. That means it's back on you." Sirius nodded slowly. "And by updates, I mean I want proper ones. No vague rubbish, no omissions."

"There'll be omissions," Sirius said flatly, thinking of Harry.

"No," Scrimgeour said. "There won't, or we'll pull you out and put someone else in."

"I'll resign," Sirius said. He usually quite liked Scrimgeour, but he'd been on edge since the Cup, worried about Harry, and he didn't like the other man's tone. "And stay at the school. You can't make Dumbledore sack me."

"Don't be difficult, Black. If we wanted you out, we'd pull you out - put you under investigation for withholding information, or-"

"I'd run," Sirius said, raising his eyebrows. "Go off the grid. I've done it before - quite effectively, if you'd care to remember."

"And just like then, you'll be sticking close to Potter but _unlike_ last time, he won't be tucked away at your place. He'll be at Hogwarts, which means you'll be at Hogwarts-"

"Enough, both of you," Robards said irritably.

Sirius and Scrimgeour glowered at each other without any real heat. Scrimgeour was the first to sigh and ease up.

"What omissions?" he asked stiffly.

"There'll be times that I know things. Voldemort's plans, or names of people, or… I don't know, just things. And I won't be able to prove them, or explain how I know. You're going to have to trust that I know what I'm talking about, and not ask for details that I don't give."

"You have a source?" Scrimgeour said.

"Of sorts," Sirius muttered. Robards and Scrimgeour exchanged a look.

"Potter?" That Scrimgeour framed it as a question was indicative that Robards hadn't told him _everything_ ; when Robards had confronted Sirius about the fake letters, Sirius had outright said Harry was the source of his information, but had refused to elaborate. That Robards hadn't passed that onto Scrimgeour was nice; it would keep Harry out of it a little more and Sirius appreciated that; he wouldn't put it past Scrimgeour to bypass Sirius and go straight to Harry if he thought a situation merited it.

"I'm not saying anything more," Sirius said. He and Scrimgeour stared at each other for a while longer, and then the older man nodded stiffly.

"Very well," he said, but didn't sound overly happy about it. "I suppose the important thing here is that we're all on the same side. Common enemy and all that. Right?"

"Right," Sirius said, relieved.

* * *

The last week of the holidays was an eventful one, even by the Burrow's standards; Fred had Healer's orders to rest, which meant he and George spent a lot of time holed up in their room doing Merlin-knew-what, and Harry was in and out as usual - coming for Quidditch in the orchard, and to tell them stories about the newest Lupin, to tell them Sirius would be teaching at Hogwarts. Dad and Percy were working long hours at the Ministry, trying to put everything to right after the World Cup, and when they were home, they spent a lot of time talking to each other and to Bill and Charlie in low voices. And Ron… well, when he wasn't with Harry, Hermione, and or Ginny, avoiding Mum's fussing, or trying to teach himself new spells from Bill's old books - Ron spent a lot of time skulking around on the stairs and behind doorways, listening in in the hopes that he'd learn something interesting. Mostly he heard a lot of unfamiliar names and about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament.

In private - when they didn't know Ron was listening - Dad, Bill, Charlie, and Percy discussed the increased security measures (though how Charlie had as much to contribute to that conversation as Percy did, Ron couldn't work out) but when Ron and the others were around, they didn't mention the Tournament at all, only alluded to the fact that there was something big happening at Hogwarts this year and that it was a secret. Ron had known about the Tournament for a while now - since Sirius had told Harry about it, and Harry had told Ron - but the adults seemed to enjoy 'teasing' them, so Ron didn't let on. Ginny - who also knew - had been distinctly unimpressed and less indulgent:

"Something big happens at Hogwarts every year," she'd said to Percy after he tried to goad her after dinner the night before they went back to school, "and it's pretty much never good. I'd just as soon have a boring year where nothing happens." Percy frowned - not in an angry way, Ron didn't think, more in a troubled way - and wandered out.

"I don't think Hogwarts does boring," Ron said, shuffling over to make room for Hermione on the couch.

"It certainly doesn't," Mum said, coming to put a pile of folded laundry beside Ron. Thankfully she'd missed Ginny's rather grim statement; since the World Cup, she'd been on edge, and that was the sort of thing that would have set her off. "There you are, Ron dear - mind you pack them properly so they don't crease." Atop the pile of Ron's black school robes was an unfamiliar bundle of maroon velvet. Ginny had noticed too.

"They're not school robes," Ginny said, sitting up to get a better look.

"Mum, this isn't mine," Ron said.

"Yes it is, dear; dress robes. They were on your list." With no small amount of trepidation, Ron picked the new robes up, and baulked. Ginny let out a cackle.

"Is that lace I see, Ron?" she asked gleefully.

It was. He could feel Hermione staring - at him or the robes, he wasn't sure - and couldn't quite bring himself to look at her.

"I'm not wearing them," he said, horrified.

"Everyone wears them, Ron," Mum said, rather crossly. "They're for formal occasions-"

"I don't think they've been fit for _any_ occasion for at least fifty years," Ron said, not sure if he was more horrified or angry. "Look at them, Mum!"

"They're a bit of an older style," Mum said, "but I think they're very traditional-"

"I don't care what they are - I'm not wearing them," Ron said. "I'd rather go starkers." Hermione spluttered a laugh and Ron felt his ears go red.

"Do, then," Mum snapped. "And make sure someone gets a photograph-"

"I'll tell Fred and George to," Ginny said, with an evil grin.

Ron left the dress robes on the couch and snatched up the rest of his laundry, saying, "I'm going to pack."

Fred and George's door opened as he passed it and George peered out.

"Mum mad at us down there?" He seemed to take in Ron's expression. "Ah. It was Ron," he said over his shoulder.

"Excellent," Fred said, from within the room.

"Carry on," George said.

* * *

There'd been no odd behaviour from Potter, Granger, or either of the Weasleys to suggest that something was going to happen - and he knew, because he'd been watching for it - but Draco still wasn't surprised in the slightest; Potter drew his wand and cast the same silencing charm as he'd used in their dormitory at the end of last term, and four sets of eyes - five, if he counted Crookshanks' - fixed themselves on Draco, who stared evenly back.

Potter's mouth twitched.

"You knew we were going to-"

"Of course I did," Draco said. He'd known as soon as he'd told Potter at the World Cup about his father wanting him to be a Death Eater that Potter would likely tell the rest of them what he'd said. There'd always been a slim chance that Potter would keep it to himself - see it as Draco's to tell if he wanted to - but he'd thought - and hoped - Potter would be more likely to confide in the others; it affected them too, after all. He was rather pleased to be right.

"Are we that predictable?" Granger asked, laughing a little. Draco smiled slightly in response.

"Makes our job easy, then," Weasley said, shrugging. "If we're all on the same page…"

" _Are_ we all on the same page?" She-Weasley asked. "Obviously the four of us are-"

"The Dark Lord's been fairly active lately," Draco said, deadpan. "My father thinks he'll be back soon, which means it's time for me to stop playing Gryffindor games, and come back to the 'right' side, and be a Death Eater. I told Potter at the Cup, he's gone home and fussed about it, then told you lot, and you're all worried about what my family will do to me, and - though you probably don't want to admit it - about what I might do. Sound about right?"

Granger and Potter both looked predictably guilty, She-Weasley shrugged and nodded, and Weasley frowned and nodded and said, "Yeah, sounds like we're all on the same page."

"Good. So-"

"Before you say anything," Potter interrupted, "we've talked about it, and- well, you're one of us. Regardless."

 _Not a lie._ Draco's throat suddenly felt tight, and he couldn't manage either a genuine thank you or something witty, but he could see on Potter's face that he understood. Granger, on the other hand, misinterpreted it.

"Not that we doubt you," she said quickly. Not a lie, but also not quite the truth. They did doubt him a little - they had to - or Draco hadn't done a good enough job with Potter and Granger at the World Cup and this would never work.

"Right." Draco reached for his satchel and pulled out the wooden box that contained his pensieve. He'd had it for most of the summer - Father had become far more willing to buy Draco presents after their little chat about allegiances - and, while it wasn't as big or as impressive as the one Severus used, it had certainly served his purposes. "It's a pensieve, Granger," he said, when she opened her mouth to ask. "They store and share memories." She-Weasley went pale and stiff in her seat. Potter glanced at her, then at Draco, warily. For the first time, Draco felt nervous. "If we're going to do this, we have to do it my way. I- I've given it a lot of thought."

"Go on, then," Weasley said, after swapping looks with the other three.

"You'll ask your questions," Draco said, "and I'll answer them… fully, I promise. When we're done talking, I'm going to give you a choice." He dug into his satchel again and pulled out a handful little plastic dragons he'd picked up at a children's shop in Diagon Alley. There were four red and gold ones, and four black and grey ones, and he dropped them into a pile on the seat beside him. "Red and gold for if you trust me, black and grey for if you don't."

"Trust you about what?" Weasley asked, eyes wide. "Malfoy, what-?" Draco shook his head.

"Why the dragons?" Potter asked.

"Because I can give you answers," Draco said, "but I can't let you keep them."

"Did you make an Unbreakable Vow, or something?" Weasley asked. "Is this your way around it?"

"When we're done," Draco said, "you'll put your memory of the conversation in here, but you'll have the dragon to remember what you chose."

"You're going to take our memories?" Granger asked, looking rather shocked. "Do you know how - I've read a bit about it, and it sounds tricky, and if you're not confident, I don't really want you-"

"I know what I'm doing. I've been playing with pensieves all summer. I'm taking your memories, not changing them, which is easier, and using a pensieve works better than a charm," Draco said. He ran his thumb absently along the pensieve's carved edge. "This way, they'll be gone more completely than any memory charm could manage."

"I suppose it's to keep us safe or something?" Potter said, looking unimpressed.

"Not you," Draco said quietly, and Potter's expression changed completely. "And that's all I can say, unless you agree." Potter, Granger, and Weasley nodded in rather unnerving unison; Granger's nod was tiny, and nervous, Potter's held eye contact with Draco while he nodded, and Weasley's nod was casual but thoughtful.

"No," She Weasley said, getting to her feet. "I'm out."

"Ginny," Granger and Weasley said together; Weasley sounded exasperated, Granger more surprised. Potter just nodded again.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at Draco, "but my memories- they're mine. I don't like them being taken, or- or changed, so…" She shook her head. "Tell me what you three decide, and I'll go with that." She let herself out.

"Sorry," Draco said to the other three, once the door was shut and Potter's charm reapplied. "But it has to be this way." He took a deep breath. "My options, as my parents presented them to me, were Death Eater, or Durmstrang."

"Karkaroff's school?" Potter asked sharply. Draco thought that was a rather strange way to phrase it, but nodded all the same.

"Perhaps you should go," Granger said, "if only so you're not caught up in it all-"

"I'm not letting them send me away while everyone that matters is here," Draco said curtly.

"Mate, if they haven't sent you away, and you haven't had to run away to stay with one of us," Weasley said, "then..."

"Yes," Draco stared down at his pensieve, turned it around in his hands. "I'm to play the good little Gryffindor, and stay close to Potter so I can make myself useful when the Dark Lord returns." Granger looked like she might cry.

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "You can't-"

 _So much for one of us, regardless..._

"I won't," Draco said, making an appeasing gesture. "Not really, anyway-"

"You can't," Potter said again, more emphatically, and Draco belatedly realised he must have smelled the punchline already.

"I can, though," Draco said. "That's sort of the point, Potter."

"This is exactly what I was afraid of," Potter said, shaking his head. It must have been the truth, too, because both Granger and Weasley - who'd been looking confused and concerned - now looked _only_ concerned. "Actually," Potter continued. "This is _worse_ than what I was afraid of, because you're not just pretending because you want to keep your parents happy, you're pretending so that you can actively go against Voldemort." Draco was the only one to twitch at the Dark Lord's name; both Weasley and Granger were still and sombre.

"Yes," Draco drawled, recovering. "That's what we do on this side, isn't it?"

"He'll kill you if he finds out, you know," Potter said. Granger winced. "And there's a good chance he will - he gets into people's heads, and-"

"No one knows but me," Draco said. "My head'll be the only head he could get it out of, and I don't imagine there'll be much opportunity for me to be face-to-face with him while I'm at at Hogwarts."

"And if you are, somehow?"

"I know a bit of Occlumency," Draco said. "And if that's not good enough, or if I realise I'm in over my head, I'll run away and take you up on that spare bedroom at Grimmauld, Potter. But in the meantime, I'll be safer than anyone; I haven't painted a target on my back by running away or defying my parents, and I can spend time with you three without the Dark Lord or his followers thinking anything of it because it's where I'm meant to be."

"We don't need information that badly," Potter said. "I've already got my dreams and my scar to know what's going on-"

"Your dreams don't come every time we need to know something," Draco pointed out. "And the other side's made up of more than just the Dark Lord - you don't dream about every single Death Eater."

"It's risky-"

"Potter, you hypocrite," Draco said, unable to keep the fondness from his voice. "You'd risk yourself in a second for any of us. You _have_. Why can't I do the same?"

"Fair point, I reckon," Weasley said, shrugging. Potter scowled at him.

"And we're not going to remember any of this?" Granger asked.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled.

"It's all right," she said, then pointed to the dragons beside him. "Can I?"

"If you're ready," he said, surprised. "I thought you'd have more questions."

"I do," she said, biting her lip. "Lots, actually, but I'm not going to remember any of the answers, so…" She grimaced.

"And here I thought Harry was the only one mad enough to go up against Voldemort," Weasley said. "Out-Gryffindored by a Malfoy… honestly."

"I don't like it," Potter said, mouth turning down.

"I knew you wouldn't," Draco said.

"But I do get it," Potter continued. "And- we're not going to remember any of this, I know that, but if there's anything we can do to help without knowing…"

"Trust me," Draco said, more croakily than he'd have liked. "Keep the dragons, and trust me, even when it gets messy."

"I reckon we can manage that," Potter said, nodding. Granger flung her arms around Draco, displacing Crookshanks, who made a grumpy noise and went to sit on Weasley instead.

"I'm not going to know to tell you to be careful in a moment," she said into his shoulder, "so I'm telling you now. Okay?"

"Give me some credit," Draco said, taking mock-offence. "I'm still _me_." Granger laughed, a watery sound.

"Okay," Weasley said. "Let's get this over with."

"Don't say anything once I offer you the dragons," Draco said, pulling his wand out, and readjusting the pensieve in his lap. "I'm going to take everything we've said, from when I explained the dragons being in lieu of answers, to now. The first thing you'll remember is you choosing one so you know that- you know, you did actually choose."

Granger nodded.

Draco offered each of them the handful of dragons, and watched them each pick a red and gold one with relief. Then, he lifted his wand.

Granger's eyes were wide but trusting, and she didn't flinch at all as Draco used the gentlest, lightest touch of Legillimency to skim the surface of her mind, find the edges of the memory and draw it out through her temple. He wondered, absently, what Severus would think of Draco using everything he'd learned from him about pensieves and the mind arts, for this. Choosing the wrong side aside, Draco thought he'd be grudgingly proud.

Granger blinked as the memory came loose and opened her mouth to say something, but Potter pressed a hand to her arm and shook his head. Granger closed her mouth, gave Draco a shrewd, slightly worried look, then turned the dragon over in her hands, clearly thinking.

Potter was next. His mind recognised the touch, light as it was, and he twitched in his chair, jaw setting, mind resisting - or trying to. Draco could tell, even on the surface that if he forced his way in, Potter would have no hope of keeping him out. He didn't force it, though, just waited.

Potter took a deep breath and seemed to relax his mind or give permission or something, though he was ginger about it and stayed stiff in his chair. Draco worked as quickly as he could, and then Potter's memory joined Granger's in the pensieve.

Potter blinked like Granger had, then frowned, turning the dragon over in his hands. When he looked up at Draco again, though, his expression was clear, trusting.

Weasley shifted as Draco turned to him.

As he had with the others, Draco probed out with Legillimency. Hydrus had been his oblivious subject all summer - Draco had practised getting to his surface level thoughts without being noticed, and practised communicating. They sounded enough alike that - even in Hydrus' own mind - Draco could murmur something about an itchy nose, or needing the bathroom, and Hydrus would respond as if it had been his own thought. It had been enlightening, and also a rather good source of entertainment.

He was hoping, though, that Weasley recognised Draco's voice as Draco's.

 _Play along,_ he murmured, and Weasley's eyes widened. _I'll explain everything when I have a chance._

Weasley's eyes flicked to Potter and Granger and then he tilted his chin ever so slightly in a nod.

Draco probed a little deeper than he had with the other two, and plucked a few seconds from Weasley's memory; the last moments before he fell asleep the night before, moments he wouldn't miss.

He put them in the pensieve.

"All right?" Potter asked Weasley, eyes flicking between him and Draco. Draco wondered what he'd smelled, and focused on staying calm while he tried to think of an answer-

"Yeah," Weasley said, "just... confused." Potter accepted that with a wry nod - it was, after all, the truth, even if Weasley's confusion was for a different reason than Potter thought - and miraculously, that was that.


	11. Return To Hogwarts

It was not the first time Sirius had sat at the teachers' table, but it was the first time in several years, the first time without Remus beside him, and the first time he'd sat there that wasn't the result of being called in because something awful had happened.

This time, he was there in anticipation of something awful, which still wasn't ideal, but was better than the alternative.

Lightning flashed across the enchanted ceiling as Snape sat down in the empty set beside Sirius. It surprised him a little; Sirius had tried several times over the last few days to track Snape down to talk to him about Draco; Snape had eluded him on all but one occasion, and on that one occasion Snape had been in such a hideous mood that Sirius had realised very quickly there wasn't going to be any progress made and given it up as a bad job.

"Evening," Sirius said. Snape grunted in response and it wasn't a particularly friendly grunt. He had worried their rather delicate truce might have been affected by Sirius taking the Defence job - it was no secret Snape had wanted it for years now - but there were other empty seats at the staff table and Snape had still taken the one beside Sirius, so perhaps that wasn't it after all. Sirius sighed and reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. He filled his own goblet. "Want one?"

"No."

"No, _thank you_ ," Sirius said. Snape turned dark, cold, and utterly unamused eyes on him for a moment, then went back to watching the students. Sirius sighed again, giving up, and turned his own attention to the doors.

The students beginning to trickle in through the Great Hall's enormous doors were spotted with rain and looked rather windswept. There were quite a few faces he recognised by simple virtue of having been around the castle a lot over the last three years. He couldn't have put names to those faces, but that would come with time.

The first student whose name he did know was Ginny; she came into the Hall with a short, fair-haired boy holding a camera, and a pale girl with long blonde hair. Ginny grinned when she spotted Sirius, and then she and the boy with the camera went at sat down at Gryffindor, while the other girl drifted over to Ravenclaw.

Fred, George, the girls from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and the boy that usually commentated were the next lot Sirius recognised; the twins caught his eye, bowed in perfect unison, then sat down with the others. They'd caused quite a scene early on in Remus' time as a teacher - fireworks, and a banner, apparently, to welcome Mr Moony back to the school - and Sirius wasn't sure if he was hoping for the same, or dreading it.

Neville Longbottom came in with some of Harry's other yearmates, Hydrus Malfoy - who Sirius mistook for Draco until he noticed the robes and the distinctly pureblooded airs of the other kids he was with - settled at Slytherin with a great deal of fuss (shooing a group of younger Slytherins out of what was apparently _his_ place at the table), and then, Sirius spotted the real Draco; he, Ron, and Hermione wandered in, all looking rather sombre, and Sirius' heart seized, because Harry wasn't with them.

T _hey'd look more panicked if something had happened to him_ , Sirius told himself, but tried to catch their attention all the same. Draco's eyes slid right past him to Snape, and neither of the other two were looking at him; Hermione was waving at the Ravenclaw table, and Ron was looking back out the doors...

And then Sirius saw Harry, nodding at something Blaise had said before the two went their separate ways - Harry to join his friends, and Blaise to join Slytherin. Harry glanced up at Sirius as he sat down between Hermione and Ginny, and his mouth quirked up in greeting.

"Sorry, sorry…" Hagrid squeezed his bulk past Hooch's chair and sat in the large chair between Sirius and Sprout. He was lacking his normal coat, and was instead dressed in trousers, suspenders, and a shirt with a patched elbow and shoulder.

"Hello, Hagrid," Sirius said.

"Sirius!" Hagrid patted his shoulder and beamed, then shook his massive head to rid his beard and hair of water. Sprout tutted and dried Hagrid, then herself and Sirius with her wand. Snape shot Hagrid a poisonous look that went unnoticed by everyone except for Sirius and Dumbledore.

"Firsties make it across all right?" Sirius asked, as thunder rumbled overhead.

"Well enough," Hagrid said gruffly. "One lad fell in-"

"There's always one," Snape muttered, barely audible over Sprout's gasp and motherly, "The poor dear! Is he all right?"

"Seemed right pleased about it, ter tell the truth," Hagrid said, a bit bemusedly. "He-" But a hush fell over the chattering students as McGonagall strode in with the first years on her heels, and Hagrid fell silent.

They were all significantly soggier than the older students, and dampest of all was the boy who'd fallen into the lake; he was a tiny thing, made even tinier by the fact that he was bundled up in Hagrid's enormous overcoat.

Creevey, his name turned out to be, and he was Sorted into Gryffindor... that he'd fallen into the lake in this weather and been _pleased_ really ought to have been a giveaway, in Sirius' opinion. He went to sit beside Ginny's friend with the camera - his brother, Sirius assumed, because they looked rather alike when they sat side by side. They proceeded to whisper and stare at Harry - who was resolutely watching the Sorting - until Draco and Ron turned and offered their hands to the boy - politely, but forcefully. He shook them, then Ginny's, and then fell silent with a squeak Sirius could hear from the teacher's table due to a particularly long silence from the Sorting Hat. Then, Connor Hibbard was put in Ravenclaw, and the Sorting continued.

When it was over, Dumbledore stood and became the target of several hundred hopeful looks.

"I have only two words to say to you," he said. "Tuck in."

Harry and Ron dove for the bowl of potatoes that had just appeared on Gryffindor table. Hermione reached for the peas with far more dignity, and Draco was too busy staring at Snape to notice the food for several seconds.

Then, plates were appearing in front of Sirius and he stopped worrying about what Harry and his friends were doing because there was steak and sweet corn, and fluffy bread rolls…

Some time later, when the last of the pudding was gone, Dumbledore stood again.

"Now that we're all fed and watered, I must ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. First and foremost, I would like to welcome Professor Sirius Black to our staff." Sirius lifted a hand and waved, catching a few snippets of students' reactions - his name, Harry's, Auror - before applause drowned them out. "Most of you will have seen him around in previous years," Dumbledore continued, "so this year, we decided to make his presence here at Hogwarts official." His eyes twinkled and Sirius smiled wryly. "He will be taking over from Professor Moody as your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Dumbledore then moved on to the other usual announcements; Filch's list of forbidden objects had expanded, the forest was out of bounds, and then:

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

The news was not taken well; Harry and Ron looked appalled, Fred, George, and Ginny looked shocked, and even if Sirius hadn't known vaguely what the other Houses' players looked like, he thought he'd have been able to pick them from their variously horrified and angry expressions. "This," Dumbledore continued, "is due to an event that will be starting in October and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but, I am sure you will enjoy it immensely."

Dumbledore smiled. "It is my great pleasure to announce that this year, the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts."

This announcement was far better received; there were gasps and smiles and excited murmurs from almost everyone - staff and students alike.

Sirius grinned, his enthusiasm genuine but not without reservations; with the Tournament would come Karkaroff, and with Karkaroff would come… well, Merlin only knew what, but Sirius doubted it would be anything good.

And so, here he was.

* * *

Padfoot's quarters were the same ones Moony had occupied in Harry's first year, and it was rather surreal being back in them. If Lockhart and Moody had used the room in the years since, they hadn't changed the set-up, nor could Harry smell them; the couch was the same one they'd all sat on after Harry's first Animagus transformation, the door on the right wall led through to the office Moony had scolded them in the first time they came across the three-headed dog, and the fireplace… the fireplace was the same one Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco had camped out in front of, while Harry's scar burned and they waited to hear from Moony whether Padfoot was dead or not.

Padfoot - who was very much alive - walked into the back of him, and Harry stumbled forward, snapping out of his grim nostalgia.

"Kiddo…?"

"Sorry," Harry said, shaking himself and moving out of the doorway. Padfoot's eyes flicked up to Harry's scar in an unspoken question, but Harry shook his his head. "Just been a while since I was here." He could tell Padfoot didn't really understand, and Harry didn't particularly feel like explaining himself, so he was grateful when Padfoot didn't press; he pulled off his outer robes and tossed them over the back of the desk's chair, rolled up his sleeves and changed the topic.

"So did you have a chance to talk to Draco?"

"Yeah," Harry said, settling himself onto the couch. "Yeah, we talked on the train." And then, because he wasn't sure what else to say, he said nothing. Padfoot rolled his eyes and sat himself down on the other couch.

"And…?" he said, impatiently.

"And everything's all right," Harry said. "I- _we_ trust him." It was a strange situation he was in; Draco had been careful with his words in the lead up to the conversation so as not to leave them with anything they could draw conclusions from; Harry had gone over what he did remember several times already, and had more questions than answers. And that was assuming Draco had been honest; it was entirely possible he'd said what he'd said to give them false leads to wonder about, so that they wouldn't accidentally reach the right conclusion, be it for Draco's safety, or theirs, or someone else's; it had occurred to Harry during dinner that the secrecy could also be to protect Snape or one of the other Malfoys, though he thought that was less likely.

Regardless, he'd taken the red dragon, so whatever Draco had said must have reassured the niggling doubts he'd had since the World Cup. He trusted himself, and he trusted Draco. He would just have to learn to deal with not knowing… or try to; Harry knew he was too curious to be much good at it, but he was prepared to try for Draco's sake.

Padfoot glanced over at him, and Harry wondered what he smelled like.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"I… er... can't tell you." Padfoot frowned and Harry grimaced. "Sorry. I'd tell you if I could, but I really _can't_." He almost explained more - the pensieve, and the dragons - and then thought better of it. It wasn't something Padfoot needed to know, any more than he'd needed to know that it was Mr Malfoy who'd given Ginny the diary, or that Hermione had had a timeturner, or that Dumbledore's wand was one of the Hallows. All he needed to know was that Harry trusted him:

"But I trust him." Padfoot rubbed a hand over his face and blew out a long breath. Harry waited, expecting questions, or a protest, but they never came:

"Okay," Padfoot said, and Harry smiled. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

* * *

"Balderdash," Hermione said.

"Welcome home, dears," the Fat Lady replied, and swung open. Ron followed Hermione through the portrait hole, with the rest of the fourth years - except for Harry, who'd gone to talk to Sirius after the feast - on his heels.

"Explodin' Snap, anyone?" Seamus asked. Dean and Lavender made eager noises. "Ron?" He didn't ask Hermione or Malfoy; they were both usually happy to watch - or in Malfoy's case, critique everyone playing - but rarely played themselves.

"Nah," Ron said, "I think I'm going to unpack a bit and go to bed." He caught Malfoy's eye, pointedly, but Malfoy didn't seem to catch on. Ron stared a little harder, trying not to be too obvious; Harry was with Sirius and the rest of their dorm mates were distracted - which meant there was a perfect opportunity for the two of them to talk, alone.

"Already?" Hermione asked, looking surprised.

"Yeah," Ron sighed, giving up on Malfoy. "Just been a long day." Hermione looked a little suspicious but didn't press the point; she perched beside Parvati while the others shuffled Seamus' cards. "Meet you down here in the morning?"

"The usual time," Hermione said, nodding. "Good night."

"Night." Ron made his way upstairs, and was just pulling off his shoes when the door opened again.

"I told Granger I'd make sure you were all right," Malfoy said, a little awkwardly. So he had realised what Ron wanted. "I imagine you've got some questions." He shut the door and went to sit on the side of his bed, facing Ron.

"A few, yeah," Ron said. But, though those questions had rattled around in his head for most of the train ride and then most of dinner, he found himself not knowing what to say.

"Well?" Malfoy asked, but he sounded too nervous to be properly impatient.

"Why didn't you take my memory?" Ron asked. "You said it was too dangerous for us to know."

"Straight to it," Malfoy muttered. Ron waited. "It is dangerous, but- I've thought a lot about it and I think I need someone to know."

"But the dragons… The whole point was-"

"For Potter and Granger, yes, and for She-Weasley, if she'd stayed. Potter couldn't keep the memory. We know he has a connection to the Dark Lord, and if Potter dreams of him sometimes, then he probably dreams of Potter. And it's inevitable that they'll end up face to face again, and I can't risk the Dark Lord seeing that particular truth in Potter's mind."

"Fair," Ron conceded.

"Granger's not good with secrets," Malfoy continued. "She'd be nervous about keeping something from you and Potter and Potter'd smell it. Or - if what I think's going to happen does happen - we'll fight about whose side I'm really on and she'd tell on purpose to try to fix things. And she'd fuss," he added, seeming equal parts fond and exasperated.

"Why would we fight about whose side you're on?" Ron asked. "The dragons-"

"I don't know what I'm going to have to say or do to convince the Dark Lord that I'm his," Malfoy said quietly. "But it's… likely… the others will have reason to doubt me at some point, even with the dragons. Potter might see me with the Dark Lord, or I might have to pass on information that couldn't have come from anyone else, or I might be called away to do something or go somewhere… I'm hoping not, because they ought to want me here in Gryffindor and not being suspicious, but, well… And that's where you - hopefully - come in."

"What do you mean?"

"You can cover for me if I have to go somewhere, or do something. Make excuses and whatnot."

"I guess, yeah," Ron said, frowning. "Seems like a big risk to take, though, having me know just so I can tell Harry you've gone for a walk or something. Snape'd cover for you just as well."

"Maybe," Malfoy muttered. "That's not the only reason, though." Ron waited. "When they doubt me, it'd be nice if you could get them... not to. Remind them of the dragons, or… just lead by example." Malfoy cleared his throat. "I- you're my reasons for doing this - you, and Potter, and Granger - and I don't want to lose you all in the process." Malfoy looked nervous, and a little lost. It was the first time he'd seemed anything less than confident about this mad plan of his, and Ron was rather touched that he was more concerned about their opinion of him than he was about anything Voldemort might do. "When this is all over, and Potter's won, I want something to come back to."

"We'll be here, mate," Ron said. Or he would be, and he'd do his best to make sure Harry and Hermione were too. Harry'd forgive anyone anything, so he wasn't really worried about him, but when something upset Hermione, she held grudges. "I'll make sure of it."

After the ordeal with Wormtail last year, Ron had decided he didn't want to be useless anymore, and he was working on that, but not being useless wasn't really a position, didn't really help him work out where he was going to fit in whatever was to come; Harry was always going to be the leader, the hero, and Hermione had always been the brilliant one, the sensible one. Malfoy hadn't had a place either, but now, he was the spy. And Ron, Ron knew now that he was going to be the friend, the supportive one. A few months back, he might have been disappointed, might have throught _friend_ wasn't as cool as the others' titles… And maybe it wasn't, but he thought of Hermione's hand like a vice around his while Wormtail used them as bait, thought of Harry's face when they'd told him they were sticking with him, prophecies and horcruxes and all, and he watched Malfoy's face now, and decided it was pretty bloody important.

"Much appreciated," Malfoy said hoarsely.

"So," Ron said, after a few moments of silence. "I'm meant to make your excuses and sing your praises… anything else I should know about?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, mouth twitching, "you're also going to have to be my confidant. I won't very well be able to walk up to Potter and tell him the Dark Lord's plans."

"How am I meant to explain that?" Ron asked, weakly. "I don't have a scar that gives me visions, or parents that are Death Eaters- er, I mean-"

"As confidant, that's your problem to solve," Malfoy said, thankfully not taking offence. "But Potter can't know it's coming from me, or he'll unravel all of this in an instant… you know what he's like."

"Yeah," Ron said, then shook his head. "Bloody hell." Malfoy smirked, looking more like his normal self than he had all day. It was short lived, however; Malfoy's expression turned vulnerable after only a few moments.

"So," he said in a small voice, "you'll do it, then?"

"'Course I will."


	12. Doubt

"Off to bed with you now, Potter."

"Night, Professor," Harry replied, in the same tone. He and Padfoot stared at each other for a few moments, then both snorted. Padfoot drew him in for a hug. "Night, Padfoot," Harry said, more genuinely.

"Night, kiddo."

"Balderdash," Harry said.

"Being out after curfew on the _first night back_ , certainly _is_ balderdash," the Fat Lady said, grudgingly swinging open.

"I was with a teacher," Harry said, tilting his head in the direction of Padfoot's retreating figure. He hadn't even intended to be this late, but they'd Flooed Dora and Stella and lost track of time.

"He's _not_?!" the Fat Lady gasped, looking after Padfoot. Harry just grinned at her and clambered through. Behind him, he could her hear calling, " _Violet!_ "

The common room was emptier than he'd expected; the twins were huddled together in a corner with their heads bent together, which mightn't have been unusual except there was a rowdy game of Exploding Snap happening; it appeared to be Lee vs Seamus, while Dean, Lavender, Angelina, Colin, and a handful of fifth years looked on. Harry's curiosity got the better of him, and he started toward the twins, only to be sidetracked by a different Weasley:

Ginny cleared her throat quietly enough that Harry - with his excellent hearing - was probably the only one to hear it. She was sitting alone by the fire, watching him, and looking serious and tired and _old_ in a way that was out of place in the common room.

"All right?" he asked her, sitting in the closest armchair.

"What dragon did you choose?" she asked. Harry looked at her, surprised.

"You haven't spoken to the others yet?"

"I talked to Hermione," Ginny said. Her voice was quiet, and… brooding in a way it hadn't been for a few months, at least. "She was down here for a bit. I wanted to hear it from you, though." In response, Harry pulled the red dragon out of his pocket. He offered it to her, and she took it, turning it over in her hands as if to be sure it was real, then nodded and passed it back. "Did he really make you forget afterward?" Harry nodded. "Everything?"

"Everything," Harry said ruefully, and she shuddered.

"I'm so… _mad_ with myself that I didn't- couldn't..." She looked away scowling. Her eyes were bright, and Harry began to panic, wondering if she was going to cry; Ginny just _didn't_ cry, and he really didn't have the first clue what to do if she did. "But I really _couldn't_."

"Draco wouldn't… He's not like Riddle-" She looked up sharply at the name, and Harry fell silent.

"He's not taking memories to protect himself?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's different," Harry said. "He gave us a choice, gave us a way to remember the important stuff, even if he didn't leave us with the details." He ran his finger over his dragon's lumpy, plastic spine.

"True." Ginny watched the fire for a moment. "He's- he's _Draco_." Her tone was rather helpless, like she couldn't explain him better than that. "He's ours, and I didn't have any doubts when you were telling us what he'd said at the World Cup, but today in the compartment… he was different. And there are probably a lot of really good reasons for that, but I made excuses for Tom, too… and just- the pensieve and the memories..." She swallowed and looked away again. Harry wasn't sure what to say. "But you trust him," she said eventually. Harry waved the dragon at her. She let out a short breath and nodded once, scent determined. "Okay."

"You don't have to just because I do," Harry said. "I mean, I obviously think he _should_ be trusted, but you should be allowed to decide-"

"I trust you," she said. "More than myself, when it comes to things like this."

"No pressure or anything," Harry muttered, and it had the desired effect; Ginny smiled, small, but genuine and faintly amused. The mood lightened ever so slightly and then entirely when there was a massive popping noise followed by a cheer, a groan, and the smell of burning hair.

* * *

"Well?" Lord Voldemort demanded, before Wormtail had even made it fully into the room. "Were they there?"

"N-no," Wormtail said, as he had after every expedition he'd made over the past two weeks. He looked nervous to be delivering bad news, but Lord Voldemort wasn't angry as much as he was disappointed, and even then it was only mild. His theory - if it proved to be correct - had such potential he could afford to be patient.

"I saw some muggles and old Bathilda Bagshot," Wormtail continued, "b-but that was it…"

"I see."

Wormtail swallowed and glanced at Nagini, coiled and watchful from the hearth and then quickly away. With Polkov constantly available to do his bidding, Lord Voldemort had been less dependent on her. Since Polkov's death at the World Cup, however, Lord Voldemort had been left with only Wormtail to care for him, and Wormtail was busy, at Lord Voldemort's instruction. Nagini had been staying much closer as a result, and it was obviously causing Wormtail some distress. "I'm s-sorry."

Lord Voldemort ignored him, reaching down to run his hand through the silky fabric of his invisibility cloak, thinking...

"If I may, m-my Lord, perhaps…" Wormtail hesitated. "Perhaps if you told me _w-why_ , then-"

"I cannot," Lord Voldemort replied, then more thoughtfully: "I cannot guarantee it will not be overheard."

"Overheard?!" Wormtail squeaked. "But- there isn't- how could-"

"Yes, Wormtail, overheard," Lord Voldemort said silkily.

"But-"

"You'll go to Hogsmeade," Lord Voldemort said over the top of him, voice quiet but firm. Wormtail nodded, face scrunched; he was clearly trying to work out how they could be overheard. "To the Hog's Head." Lord Voldemort paused, wondering if the boy was listening this time. "You ought to know what's expected by now."

"Y-yes, my Lord." Wormtail bowed and backed out.

* * *

Sirius flicked his wand to clear the blackboard, then turned; Fred and George had stayed behind, and were waiting unusually patiently for him.

"I suppose you want your stink pellets back," Sirius said, arching an eyebrow.

"No, actually," Fred said.

"Yes," George said. The twins exchanged a look.

"Yes," Fred said slowly, turning back to Sirius. "But that's not all. We have a question."

"A question," Sirius repeated, pausing with his hand around the bag of stink pellets in his desk drawer. He wrinkled his nose; he'd smelled them almost as soon as they entered his classroom, and had taken them away not because he was particularly worried they'd use them, but more because it had been a practical lesson and he didn't want to spend it getting whiffs of stink pellets.

"About the lesson, or…?"

"About something else," George said. Sirius tossed the bag in their direction and Fred caught them with a nod, then pulled a face; Sirius knew his shoulder was still recovering from the World Cup. Cursed injuries were nasty like that.

"Should I be worried?" Sirius asked. He sat down on the edge of his desk.

"'Course not," Fred said.

"Nothing to worry about at all," George assured him. "We've just got a hypothetical scenario we want to run past you."

"Right," Sirius said, wondering if this was a distraction, or a prank, or genuine; all he could get from the twins' scents was a sort of forced innocence, which didn't help him narrow it down at all. He flicked his wand at the door, which clicked shut. "Go on, then."

"So there's a betting pool," George says.

"Hypothetically, of course," Fred added.

"Of course," George agreed, and Sirius swallowed a groan. "So a bet was placed-"

"Typical thing to happen with a betting pool, really," is Fred's contribution.

"-and the bet was won-"

"Less typical."

"-but not paid. Not… ah... properly."

"The winnings should be paid," Sirius said, folding his arms and giving them his best stern look.

"Couldn't agree more," Fred said brightly. George nodded. "But if it wasn't…"

"Hypothetically," George added.

"... just how messy could it get? Legally."

"That depends," Sirius said, "on who's been cheated."

"No one I'd want to cheat," Fred said, exchanged a significant look with George, who nodded.

"They're the sort to want payback," he said. His eyes slid across to Sirius and he grinned. "Hypothetically." Sirius actually groaned this time.

"If this is any serious amount of money, you could be in a lot of trouble for underage gambling." Both twins frowned.

"Enough trouble for the underage gambling itself that the rest mightn't matter?" George asked.

"Quite possibly," Sirius said.

"Guess we know his angle, then," Fred muttered to George, low enough that Sirius didn't think he was supposed to have heard. "Might be helpful."

"I'm going to give you a chance here," Sirius said, "off record, to tell me what you've _hypothetically_ done so that I can try to _hypothetically_ fix it for you. I'm not breaking any laws for you, and I'm not sweeping things under the rug if _you've_ managed to break any laws - other than the underage gambling - but I'm offering to help. Damage control. Hypothetically."

The twins exchanged a look. Sirius watched them and wondered if teachers had found his and James' double act during school this exasperating (Later that night, he asked McGonagall over dinner and she said "Ah, how the tables have turned," with no small amount of satisfaction).

"No," George said eventually. "Probably best not."

"George," Sirius said, part stern, part fond.

"Professor Black," Fred said, in the same tone.

"Auror Black," George said.

"Marauder Padfoot," Fred continued.

"Sirius, if it's not too bold to call you that…" Sirius snorted. "If it gets ugly, it'd be a bad look for you to be involved." He couldn't argue with that logic, and wondered, absently when the bloody hell had all the kids he knew had become so reasonable.

"Best keep your nose out of it," Fred advised.

"All right," Sirius said reluctantly. "But if there's anything I can do to help you, without me needing to be involved, or if you're in danger, you let me know."

"We solemnly swear," the twins said, in uncanny unison. George shook his hand and Fred patted him on the opposite shoulder. "Good chat! Bye!"

* * *

When Severus dismissed his fourth years from their Friday double lesson, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike scuttled for the door; the former had lost fifty points - mostly for not realising Severus was in a _mood_ and keeping their heads down - and the Gryffindors even more; he'd taken thirty from Longbottom for managing to melt his cauldron, another ten from Longbottom for looking so upset about it, ten from Weasley for talking back, ten from Granger for being beside him while he did so, ten from Thomas for not helping Longbottom, ten from Draco for scowling at Severus, and thirty from Potter for various minor infractions that were covers for the real reasons; firstly, that Potter had the gall to exist at the moment, and secondly, because Black had finally managed to corner Severus the evening before - as he'd been trying to do since term started - to talk about Draco.

"Mr Malfoy, stay behind." Both Malfoy boys froze and glanced around. Hydrus looked genuinely worried - it was refreshing to see him with something other than a smirk on his face - but Draco only seemed resigned. "The younger," Severus added, and Hydrus' smirk was back; he muttered something to Draco whose expression went carefully blank. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy," Severus snapped, "for not realising I meant the other Mr Malfoy." Hydrus' mouth fell open. "It'll be another ten if you're not out of my sight in the next three seconds."

* * *

"Still reckon I'm imagining it, Hermione?" Ron asked, rather darkly, as the three of them made their way to upstairs.

"Maybe not," she said, in a small voice. Snape being nasty wasn't anything _new_ exactly, but Harry had never known him to be this bad - to anyone, ever, except maybe Padfoot pre-truce - and certainly not to them; that they were friends with Draco had always meant Snape had a certain, reluctant tolerance - in his own rather snide way - for them.

Until this year, apparently, and it had only got worse as the week drew on; in the first lesson, Snape had been quick to snap or take points from anyone that messed up. In the lesson they'd just escaped from, he'd taken points from anyone and everyone - Slytherins included - and from Harry most of all.

Hermione seemed a bit hurt, Ron angry, but Harry couldn't bring himself to be anything other than unsettled; he couldn't put a name to what the emotions might have been, but Snape's smell had reminded him of a wound, minus the blood; uncomfortably hot like an infection, prickly, stinging, festering, hurting, aching-

He shuddered and rubbed his nose, keen to get back up to his dormitory so he could shove his head under a tap and try to rinse the smell out of his nose.

"All right?" Ron asked, giving him a sideways look.

"Fine." Ron shrugged in an _if-you-say-so_ sort of way.

They chattered about classes and the essay Flitwick had assigned them - Hermione's contribution - Padfoot's war with Peeves, and an update from Moony, Dora, and Stella - Harry's contribution - and that at least if Snape was being a git, he was being a git to the Slytherins too - Ron's - until they reached the seventh floor.

Ron slowed, deliberately enough that Harry and Hermione both glanced at him.

"Detour?" he asked. Harry's nose had settled somewhat, so he shrugged and nodded, and Hermione bobbed her head. The three of them continued past the Fat Lady, to the stretch of corridor that was becoming increasingly familiar.

As he had several other times that week, Ron stopped them just beyond the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and stared hard at the blank wall. The entrance to the room Wormtail had hidden in at the end of their third year was somewhere around here, according to Ron, who'd know best; Hermione had been taken inside while she was Stunned and therefore didn't remember it - though she'd been in this general area before she was Stunned - and Harry had been let in via a passage Wormtail made specially for him.

"Can you show us the room where Wormtail was?" Ron asked. The wall didn't change. "I need a door to the room with all the stuff in it." Hermione had produced a scrap of parchment and was scribbling things down as Ron spoke.

"Please?" Harry said hopefully, and Ron and Hermione both glanced at him, faces and scents amused.

"What are you trying to show me?" Ron asked.

"You said that one yesterday," Hermione said, tapping her list.

"Oh, right." Ron scrunched up his face. "Er… I need a door?"

They spent fifteen minutes trying various things (different questions and statements, moving further down the wall to a slightly different spot, standing closer to the wall and further away from it), and, after no luck, eventually trooped back to the common room to make a start in their homework before dinner and wait for Draco to return.

* * *

Hydrus fled out into the empty corridor and was out of sight by the time two of his three seconds were up

Severus flicked his wand at the door to close it anyway, and cast a silent _Muffliato_ around himself and Draco, just in case.

"Sir," Draco said politely.

"Sit." Severus jabbed a finger at the nearest chair.

"Am I in trouble?" Draco asked, in that same, infuriatingly polite tone; infuriating, because Severus had felt… unstable since Draco's little revelation about joining the Dark Lord, and yet Draco himself seemed utterly calm about it all, even now that he was back around his little Gryffindor friends.

He had not made any move to sit, but perhaps that was because Severus was also still on his feet.

"What exactly did you tell Potter?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, but there had been the tiniest of pauses before he responded, the slightest widening of his eyes.

"You know precisely what I mean," Severus snapped. "Don't insult either of us further by pretending otherwise; you told Potter that Lucius approached you about being a Death Eater."

There was a pause, as Draco seemed to process that, then, " _So_?"

" _So_ ," Severus said in the same snide tone his godson had just used, "Potter told Black, who's come to me with his wand in a twist, wanting to make sure you're all right." It was incredibly liberating to have something he could be believably angry with Draco about; since he was meant to be on the side Draco was newly loyal to, he hadn't been able to take exception to it.

"I don't know why he'd go to you about it," Draco muttered, scowling. "It's not like you'd know."

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked, in his most dangerous voice.

"I said it's not like you'd know whether I'm all right or not," Draco said, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. "We've hardly been in contact all holidays." That stung.

"As I've told you on several occasions," Severus said, voice curt but calm, "I-"

"-'ve been busy," Draco finished. "Yes, you've said." His tone was equal parts polite and dismissive; it made it clear he didn't believe Severus, but was not interested in hearing any more on the matter.

"You've been spending too much time around your mother," Severus said, irritably. "Though perhaps not enough; she, doubtless, would have advised against telling Potter about-"

"I'm not an idiot," Draco said. "I told him, and I told Granger and Weasley, because I know I'm not going to be perfect at this straight away - you, and Mother and Father have reminded me about that several times now. And so I knew that if I did slip up, Potter and the others would get suspicious and probably unravel the whole thing, which would ruin everything." Draco sighed. "By telling them, I was able to prepare for the conversation, and have it on _my_ terms, not theirs. I spun them a lovely little sob-story about how Mother and Father want me to be a Death Eater and were going to send me to Durmstrang if I said no, but obviously I couldn't say yes, so I told them I've told Mother and Father I'll think about it to buy myself some time."

"It's a wonder you haven't been kidnapped and adopted by Black or Mrs Weasley," Severus said dryly.

"Oh, Black doesn't know," Draco said. "I removed their memories of the conversation afterward-" Severus arched an eyebrow. "-and and left them knowing they trust me. I told them it was for my safety."

"What danger-"

"If I'm going to string my Mother and Father - and by extension, the Dark Lord - along, it wouldn't do for any of them to find out, and they might if the Dark Lord plucks the memory out of Potter's mind, or one of the other two can't keep their mouths shut." Draco paused. "I've given it a lot of thought, sir, I promise."

Severus grunted, because _that_ , at least, was apparent - even if he didn't like it - and sent Draco on his way.

 _Teach him to survive_ , Narcissa had said, all those years ago. _Teach him to lie_.

Severus had taught him to do both of those things - and other things too - and he'd taught him _well_ ; Severus didn't tolerate mediocrity in any aspect of his life, and had never tolerated it from Draco either. He watched his godson and felt his anger drain away. Bone-deep exhaustion replaced it, and no small amount of fear.

It was not dissimilar to how he'd felt back during the war; everything was slipping out of his control and he was in too precarious a position to do anything to stop it.

Back then, he'd gone to Dumbledore and traded his loyalty to the Dark Lord for a promise to protect Lily.

Now, Dumbledore's wasn't an option. Severus knew he'd failed with the boy and the thought of admitting it to Dumbledore pained him. But it wasn't just that:

The way Severus cared for Draco was different to the way he had for Lily, but no less fierce. And Lily, for all that he had loved her, was dead. Draco was not, and Severus was uncomfortably aware there was very little he wouldn't do or compromise to keep him that way. If it ever came to a choice between saving Potter or saving Draco, he'd pick Draco and not be sorry for it.

He'd asked himself several times recently, whether he would side with Draco over Potter and Dumbledore and the rest of them, over his beliefs. He'd hated that he hadn't known the answer, hated that that _was_ an answer in and of itself.

* * *

 **Hi all,**

 **Sorry for the delayed update - all is well, I've just had a crazy few weeks and not much time for writing, but things have settled again now.**

 **Thanks to everyone that checked in to make sure I was okay - it means a lot. :)**

 **Happy reading!**

 **MarauderLover7.**


	13. A Word Of Advice

"I'm compromised," Severus had murmured to Albus the night before, as he pushed his half-empty plate away at dinner. "Consider this your only warning." Something had shifted in Severus' expression, and Sirius - several seats up, between Hagrid and Sinistra - had looked up, nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something unpleasant. "I owe you that much." And then he'd left.

Albus had known something was wrong; Severus had been aloof - even by his standards - over the holidays, and in a rather foul mood since term resumed. Albus had put it down to a combination of returning to school and Sirius getting the Defence position, and given him a bit of time and distance to adjust. Only he hadn't adjusted, or mellowed, and Albus had had complaints from the other all of the other teachers - except, oddly enough, from Sirius - and from parents, and from students as well. An unacceptable amount, in fact, and while being compromised absolutely did not excuse his behaviour, it certainly went a way toward explaining it. Albus rather wished the problem _had_ been Sirius; if it had, he could have settled the entire thing with a disappointed look and a few chiding comments. This, on the other hand...

Suffice to say, Albus was too troubled to sleep well that night; Severus had long ago turned away from Voldemort and his beliefs, and Albus had never doubted that, _still_ didn't doubt that, but if Severus was compromised…

And he must be - Severus would not have bothered to warn him otherwise. Dramatic as Severus could be, this was not something he'd overplay.

The question was... _how_?

Severus had fooled Voldemort for almost two years during the war, whilst constantly in his presence, and with Voldemort at his full strength. While all evidence seemed to suggest that Voldemort was regaining that strength, but he was still - thankfully - nowhere near what he had been, nor was Severus anywhere near him. In the years since Voldemort's downfall and especially in recent years where he'd been making himself known again, Albus and Severus had made plans to alleviate whatever doubts Voldemort would have about his loyalty. There _would_ be doubts, after all; Severus had lived at Hogwarts under Albus' eye for years now, and the last contact he had had with his former lord - at least as far as Albus was aware - had been three years ago, when Voldemort tried to frame him for an attempt on the Philosopher's Stone. He'd have to be a fool _not_ to question Severus' loyalty after that, and unfortunately for everyone, Tom had never been a fool.

But if Severus had, somehow been in contact with Voldemort and caught out as Albus' spy, surely he'd be dead. The only reason he wouldn't be, would be if he'd been convincing in his repentance, and even then Voldemort would not let him off so easily. He'd need a way to ensure Severus' renewed loyalty, and somehow, he'd found one. Something that Severus valued more than his own life, which Severus had always been prepared to risk for the cause. Something that Severus valued more than his own beliefs. Something that Severus valued more than Albus' trust and respect, which he'd painstakingly earned over the past fifteen years and, Albus knew he was genuinely pleased to have, though his sharp tongue and general lack of tolerance for what he deemed Albus' eccentricities made it seem otherwise.

And, most surprisingly, something that Severus valued more than Lily Potter, and the promises he'd made to protect her son after her death.

Lily Potter had shaped Severus' actions for almost all of his life, even after she herself was gone. It seemed impossible, that there could be something more important to Severus than that, than her, but there must be, because he was compromised.

Albus would very much have liked to ask Severus about it, but that wasn't an option, not yet; in Severus' mind they were on opposite sides again - the warning had made that clear - and so Severus would not confide in him, would not indulge his questions. Albus needed an answer, first, an explanation for how this had happened, and then a plan.

The answer came not long after: Draco.

It had to be. It was almost embarrassingly obvious, but also not; it couldn't be a threat against the boy, because Draco - in Gryffindor, close to Harry - was an opportunity that Voldemort would try to exploit rather than destroy. Albus had known years ago, when talk about getting the younger Malfoy into Gryffindor first started, that being in Gryffindor would make him valuable and therefore safe. Severus' lessons would also give him some ability to protect himself, but when that was no longer an option, Albus had always expected Draco would follow in the steps of Sirius Black and run away to live with a Potter. Severus had had concerns back when the lessons began that they were creating a weapon for the Voldemort to abuse, but Dumbledore had never worried. The boy had Severus as an influence, would have Potter as a friend… Since meeting Draco when he started at Hogwarts, Albus had had even less cause to worry; the boy was Gryffindor through and through, and beyond that _decent._

But if Severus was compromised, something must have gone wrong, somewhere. Had Draco changed his mind on his own, or had he been pressured into it, by either his family or by Voldemort himself? And what had happened between him and Severus that Draco would not trust Severus when he had surely tried to reason him away from Voldemort's side? And, if Severus had changed his allegiance to better protect Draco, had it been a decision he'd made for himself, or had Draco or one of the Malfoys pushed him into it?

It was over these things that Albus was musing when one of his silver instruments informed him he was about to have a visitor, and Albus paused his pacing to glance at the clock in surprise; it was almost six in the morning.

"Enter," he called, and the door swung open to admit a tired-looking Harry. Had he had another dream, perhaps? "Harry," Albus said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Padfoot gave me the password," Harry said. "I hope you don't mind-"

"Not at all." Albus went to sit at his desk and gestured for Harry to do the same.

"I… Er… had a dream," Harry said.

Albus nodded, mind already flicking through possibilities - discussions about the Tournament, a failed plan, or, Merlin-forbid, a successful one - and asked, "Will Sirius be joining us?"

"No," Harry said. "I spoke to him this morning, and he's sorting things with Robards and Scrimgeour now." Albus nodded again, but was surprised; while their relationship was greatly improved from where it had been following Sirius' trial, Albus still felt Sirius usually only trusted him out of either necessity, or lack of better options. This, though, trusting Albus to deal with Harry alone, was… something. And, likewise, that Harry was here alone meant Sirius trusted Harry to handle himself, which Harry was, of course, perfectly capable of, but rarely had the chance to demonstrate if Sirius had any say in the matter. Whatever matter Sirius was discussing with Robards and Scrimgeour must be a significant one if it had taken precedent.

"I… he- Voldemort I mean… was sending Wormtail to Godric's Hollow."

"Godric's Hollow," Albus repeated, surprised; Voldemort had lost so much there that he's surely be reluctant to acknowledge the place unless there was very, very good reason, and he doubted Peter Pettigrew felt any more fondly about it. "Did he say why?"

"No," Harry said. "It was… weird, actually. They were in the room with Voldemort's chair and the fireplace, and Wormtail asked where he was going this time, and Voldemort told him Godric's Hollow. That was it. And he wasn't angry, or excited like he normally is, he was… I dunno, frustrated."

"Peculiar," Albus murmured. "Very peculiar indeed-"

Harry's breathing cut off sharply and his hand flew to his scar, face scrunching up. Albus was on his feet in an instant, leaning over the desk to put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Harry?" he said, and was ignored. "Harry?"

"He's happy," Harry said, voice strained and distant, and Albus knew he wasn't really there, not yet, but marvelled that he had the presence of mind to speak, to explain despite that. "Really, really happy. It worked." He winced, then blinked, expression easing slightly and looked up at Albus, eyes tired and green and thoughtful, like he was already trying to make sense of it all. "Something worked." He rubbed his forehead, frowning, and Albus sat again.

They were both silent for a few moments, and then, thinking aloud, Albus murmured, "Perhaps he still seeks the Elder Wand." Harry's eyes darted to the pocket of Albus' dressing gown.

"But- the wand's- it's not there…"

"No," Albus agreed. Harry was silent, waiting with unusual patience for Albus to elaborate. Albus favoured him with a weak smile. "The wand has ties to Godric's Hollow."

"What ties?" Harry asked, because he was Harry, so of course he'd ask. He had no obligation to explain, he knew that, knew Harry wouldn't press if he chose not to. But, Albus had also learned that Harry liked both answers and the truth - and had a tendency to know and then investigate if he didn't get both - and he knew that Harry's trust ought not be taken for granted; keeping it was far more important than his reluctance to bring up painful memories, and his shame.

"The brother of the wand's supposed original owner is buried there," Albus said. Harry nodded, but said nothing. After a moment of waiting on Albus' part that confirmed the boy _knew_ there was more to be said, he continued, "And its two most recent owners both lived there once, which, I daresay is the part that holds the most interest to Voldemort."

"You lived in Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked. Albus inclined his head, seeing not the office, but his brother and sister, and the charming young neighbour who'd visited Bathilda Bagshot- "And… so did whoever had the wand before you?"

"Once," Albus said. "Once, a long, long time ago." Harry practically exuded curiosity, but Albus had explained as much as he thought he needed to and would not be saying any more on the matter. The boy could draw his own conclusions, or perhaps learn the answers through Voldemort when he inevitably uncovered the truth. And it seemed Harry knew he wouldn't be elaborating, because he nodded slowly.

"Sir… is it likely that whatever's at Godric's Hollow could give away where the wand is now?"

"Undoubtedly."

"What's there?" Harry asked. "Can we hide it, or-"

"Nothing tangible," Albus said. He stood and went to rub his hand along the soft, warm feathers on Fawkes' neck. He glanced back toward his desk and and smiled slightly at the confused look on Harry's face. "Memories, Harry," he said, and Harry's expression cleared.

"Memories can be hidden," Harry said, "or taken." It wasn't a question. It was a statement, almost a suggestion.

"They can," Albus agreed. He sighed. "But these should not be." Fawkes nibbled at one of his fingers - a comforting gesture.

"Even if they lead Voldemort to the wand?"

"Even if they do," Albus murmured. He kept one hand on a crooning Fawkes, while the other drew the Elder Wand from the pocket of his dressing gown. "Forgetting would be equally terrible, I fear."

* * *

"Stop looking at me like that," Fleur said, throwing herself down into the spare seat in Remus' office and folding her arms.

"Like what?" Remus asked, but he knew full well what she meant; he had his Prefect Lupin face on, the disappointed one that had once been able to get even James and Sirius to behave. He followed her inside more sedately, and closed the door, then took a seat at his desk. Dora blew him a kiss from inside a picture frame, and in the frame next to it, Stella smiled gummily; Dora was sending him photographs of their daughter almost daily, but when he portkeyed back to England on the weekends, it still took him aback how quickly she was growing. Photo-Harry and Sirius were in a third frame. Harry spoke no French at all, and never bothered to listen to his conversations, but photo-Sirius knew a bit and would sometimes nod along, or laugh, or shake his head. At the moment, though, both were watching Stella with rather doting grins on their faces, and clearly not listening at all.

"LIke that!" she said, waving a hand at his face. "Do you want an apology?"

" _I_ don't," Remus said, tearing his eyes away from the photographs of his family and back to his student, "but I think someone else might be due one." Fleur's lip curled.

"I won't," she said. "She had it coming-"

"And so did Miss Alphonse, Mr Levesque, Mr Tremont, Miss Castille, and Mr Pruitt, I suppose?"

" _Yes_ ," she said angrily. "They did!"

"You're not a cruel person, Fleur," Remus said, "but you've been behaving a bit like one."

"They deserved it," she said, "all of them. _They're_ the cruel ones, and if I'm behaving like one, it's only in retaliation. You- you know how horrible humans can be to people like us-"

"I do," Remus said mildly. They'd had a number of conversations about this over the last few years., after all "And, as I've told you before, oftentimes, it comes from a place of fear. They see me and they see a monster, someone dangerous. And frankly, they're right to, because on full moons I don't have control over what I become. You, on the on the other hand-"

"I can't help what I am any more than you can," she said, scowling.

"No," Remus said. "But you _can_ help using what you are to make a fool out of your classmates. I know you can't help turning heads-"

"I can't," she said despairingly.

"-or making people a bit-" He made a gesture. "-dazed, but I _also_ know anything that has a bigger effect than that is deliberate on your part." She had the grace to smell guilty. "And using what you are, what you can do, as a weapon… well, you're giving them even more reason to fear you." And she had tried to make herself a weapon; gone were the oversized, baggy uniforms she'd been hiding in last year. The uniform she'd shown up in at the start of the term had been short and tight enough that Madam Maxime had written home to the Delacours. Her current uniform was better, but still toed the line.

"They don't _fear_ me," she sneered, and her tone made it rather clear that she wished they would.

"I daresay Mr Levesque does," Remus countered. The poor boy carried an extra pair of trousers with him and wouldn't be in the same room as Fleur anymore without flushing and racing out. Fleur looked smug, then caught Remus' disapproving look and sighed.

"I just want them to like me for me," she said. "Or dislike me for me. I don't care which, as long as the reasons aren't to do with my face, or my figure."

"Perhaps if you show them the real you there'd be more of a chance of that happening," Remus said. She narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't speak much from experience there - usually appearance isn't what I'm judged for."

"How does your Dora do it?" Fleur asked. "She must have the same problem, surely?" Her eyes were on Dora's photograph; Dora knew enough French to know she was being talked about, and was doing silly things with her hair and nose.

"I think she has the opposite problem," Remus said. "She looks so different so often that you _have_ to like her or dislike her for who she is." Fleur sighed. "Some advice, if I may?"

"You know you may," she muttered.

"Stop this," Remus said, more gently than before, "before you become what they accuse you of being. Your blood's a part of you, like lycanthropy's a part of me, but it's not _all_ there is to you. It's taken me a long time to work that out, and I still forget from time to time, but you're much cleverer than I am, so perhaps you'll remember better." He smiled at her and she smiled back. He glanced at his watch. "I've got a lesson in five minutes, so you're free to go."

"I'm not in trouble?" she asked hopefully.

"No, you are," Remus said, and she sighed but seemed unsurprised. "You'll have detention tomorrow night. Monsieur Motte's got a couple of others scheduled already, so you can join them." Fleur looked resigned rather than angry or disappointed. "Now, unless there's anything else-"

"Yes," Fleur said. "There- I was wondering if you could give me extra Defence lessons."

"Why?" Remus asked. "Monsieur Motte's more than capable of getting you through your final year - he's been doing this a lot longer than I have-"

"You're a better teacher than he is," she said, and Remus grimaced. "And it's less about my final year, and more about the Triwizard Tournament."

"You're going to enter?" Remus asked.

"Of course," Fleur said, frowning. "Why wouldn't I?"

"And what would you want covered in these lessons?" Remus asked. She gave him a radiant smile and he smiled slightly back. "I haven't agreed yet, Fleur-" Though they both knew he probably would. "-I'd like to know what you think I can teach you that won't be covered in your curriculum this year, or that you're not already learning. You're already in the Duelling Club and I'm nowhere near as qualified as Madame Pinard-"

"I've been reading about previous Tournaments," she said, "and there are always magical creatures used in the tasks. They're your specialty, are they not?" She gave him a look that was equal parts hopeful and expectant.

"I suppose they are," Remus said.

* * *

"You wish to speak with me?" Severus asked, folding his arms.

"Severus," Dumbledore said genially, looking up from a letter with Fudge's signature on it.. "I do, yes. Sit." Severus did not sit, and remembered his own irritation when he had given Draco the same instruction and been ignored. If Dumbledore was irritated, though, he did not show it, just smiled slightly as if Severus had done something amusing.

"Well?" Severus asked impatiently. "I don't have all night, Dumbledore." He wanted to be anywhere but here, knew that Dumbledore would want to talk about the warning Severus had given him at dinner the night before, and Severus did _not_ want to discuss that at all.

"Do you know what these are?" Dumbledore asked, gesturing to a pile of papers on one side of his desk.

"Should I?"

"Complaints, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly. "From students, and parents, and some of your colleagues as well."

"That's nothing new," Severus said. It was no secret that he was not popular or well liked at Hogwarts. It did not bother him - he had never made any effort to be either.

"The number is. Your mood this term has not gone unnoticed, Severus."

"Consider me chastened," Severus said sarcastically, and started toward the door.

"I'm not finished," Dumbledore said, in that same, mild tone. He did not move from his chair, or even raise his voice, but there was something that stopped Severus all the same. "I understand you've had a lot on your mind." Dumbledore was gentler now.

"You don't know the half of it," Severus said. There was no point in lying, not about this, and this was a harmless truth, one that said much without giving anything away. Dumbledore seemed both surprised and pleased by his response though.

"I have some insight, I think," he said.

"Of course you do," Severus said, unsurprised. "But you can keep it to yourself-"

"I could," Dumbledore agreed, "but I have no intention of doing so."

"Then share it with someone else," Severus said, "because-"

"Draco has not gone dark, Severus," Dumbledore said, so calmly, and with such confidence that Severus could only stare. He kept his face impassive with some effort, and waited. "Sit," Dumbledore said gently.

Severus shook his head jerkily, but made no attempt to leave or move. This was not a conversation he had ever intended to have with the Headmaster. He'd spend the last few days steeling himself to break away from the Headmaster's influence, to close his mind and expressions to the man, to withdraw, to limit all contact. The problem - which he was only realising now and far, far too late - was that despite all that, despite the fact that they were now on opposing sides, he still _trusted_ Dumbledore, and so he'd been lazy, been too relaxed, and now he'd given himself away.

He should have been annoyed with himself, annoyed with Dumbledore, but he wasn't; for the first time in months, Severus felt _hope_. Not much of it, but it was something.

"I'm listening," Severus said.

"I spoke to Harry this morning-"

Just like that, Severus' hope crumbled into something bitter.

"You're basing your judgement on _Potter_?" There was anger now, too. These days, there wasn't anyone he hated quite as much as Potter.

"I am," Dumbledore replied. "He said Draco's perfectly fine, that he's not worried-"

" _Potter is not a good judge of-_ "

"I believe he is," Dumbledore said calmly. "I trust his intuition, and his… instincts."

"Look how well James Potter's intuition served him," Severus snapped. "He trusted the wrong friend too, and-"

"Harry is not James, Severus," Albus said, with surprising patience; they'd had this conversation several times before, though this was the first time for several years. "He was raised by Sirius-"

"Who didn't see through Pettigrew either, in case you've forgotten-"

"And he has lived with that," Dumbledore said, speaking over the top of him, "and learned from it, and passed that lesson on. Harry will not make the same mistake."

"He already has," Severus said.

"I disagree." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, waiting.

"What of my judgement, then?" he asked. "You think Potter can read my godson better than I can, Dumbledore? You've not been privy to any of the conversations between us, you've not spoken to Narcissa and Lucius, as I have, you've not interacted with him as I have, and yet you're willing to disregard all of that because a fourteen year old boy said otherwise." Severus curled his lip and spun, heading back toward the door.

"Draco learned to lie from you, Severus-"

"And whose fault was that?" Severus wheeled around again, something in him snapping and then words were coming out before he could stop them: "I warned you back then, and you had me do it anyway, and now he's joined the other side-"

"I was under the impression you were a part of that side again, now," Dumbledore said, arching an eyebrow. Severus snarled at him.

"We've given them the perfect weapon to use against-"

"Draco is a boy, not a weapon," Dumbledore said.

"He'll be whatever the Dark Lord wants him to be," Severus snapped, and he was too far gone now to simply leave, or to try to twist the conversation. He had intended to part amicably with Dumbledore, respectfully, but now he just wanted him to _hurt,_ to feel guilty, to question himself, as Severus did. "You had me do this, had me train him despite my reservations, and for nothing; Potter-" The name was like acid in his mouth. "-wasn't good enough to make him want to choose our side-"

"Enough," Dumbledore said, looking angry for the first time. It was not a hot anger, like Severus', but a frosty one. "Harry is as much to blame for any choices Draco makes, as Lily was for those you made. Which is to say, not at all."

"Well it's certainly not on Draco," Severus said. "He's been a puppet from the beginning, with your hands and Narcissa's and mine on his strings, and-"

"I should hope you see your godson as more than that," Dumbledore said, voice still cold; he seemed as displeased by the idea of Draco as an object as he had been by Severus insulting Potter. It was incredibly - _surprisingly_ \- effective at calming Severus.

"Of course I do," Severus said, anger draining away. He was left feeling empty, and tired. "Draco is- everything." And oh, what it cost to admit it aloud, especially now with things as they were. "And after everything I've done to make him different, to ensure he doesn't make the same mistakes as I did, he's following the same path. Even if he does change his mind, as I did, the damage he could do before then… if he's anything like I was-"

"Draco is not like you," Dumbledore said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "If anything, he reminds me of a young Sirius."

"They are _nothing_ alike." Dumbledore said nothing, just looked at him with amusement until Severus scowled. "And everyone believed Black to be guilty of murdering the Potters, believed he was the Dark Lord's right hand man. It wasn't true, but it was believed. Why is it so hard to believe that of Draco?"

"Because Draco has you, Severus," Dumbledore said, and there was suddenly a lump in Severus' throat.

"It isn't enough," Severus said, unable to look at him. "I know my godson. Potter's been fooled-"

"Or you have," Dumbledore said. "You taught him to lie, Severus, and that puts you at a significant disadvantage; to have made any progress, he has had to get very good at lying to _you_."

"He has no reason to," Severus said, shaking his head. He refused to believe it, refused to hope, but Dumbledore's words were taking root somewhere deep inside him, against his will. Surely it wasn't possible, surely... "He… trusts me, so he's honest." Why wouldn't he be? Severus had never given Draco reason to doubt him. It all came back to that; despite Draco's surprising declaration of allegiance, despite the fact that Severus struggled to believe he could turn so easily on his little pack of Gryffindors, there was no reason for Draco to have lied and so there was no reason it should not be the truth.

"As you are with him? He knows where your true allegiance lies?"

"I've hinted at it. Not subtly." But Draco didn't know. Couldn't know, or he'd have been more squirrelly about his desire to join the Dark Lord.

"But have you told him outright?"

Telling him outright was an enormous risk. But, if Dumbledore was right, then Severus would tell the truth and Draco would return the favour. If Severus told the truth and Draco really did intend to follow the Dark Lord, then perhaps Severus could talk him out of it. Perhaps Severus could change his mind… Or, perhaps Draco would announce Severus was a traitor; whether he did so deliberately or through a slip of the tongue or mind was irrelevant; the outcome would be the same, and a decidedly bad for Severus, which was why he'd not attempted to do so before now.

"Of course not." Severus shook his head again, trying to shake the thoughts that were building inside it.

"Perhaps you should," Dumbledore said.


	14. The Imperius Curse

"Another one?" Hermione asked, leaning forward over her cereal the moment Harry sat down. Harry nodded, eyes on Padfoot's empty seat at the staff table; he was trying to coordinate with Robards and Scrimgeour, as he had been every morning but one since Harry'd had that first dream of Voldemort sending Wormtail to Godric's Hollow.

"Where was it this time?" Ron asked.

"Hogsmeade," Harry said quietly. Draco glanced up from his book, frowning.

"And you still think something's… strange-"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, and rubbed his fingertips against his scar. It hadn't been hurting, exactly, but he'd been more aware of it of late, and wasn't sure what to think about that. The other three noticed the gesture and exchanged glances.

"Do you need to go to the-"

" _No_ , Hermione," Harry said, equal parts exasperated and fond. "I just- it- these dreams don't feel the same. And I don't know why, and I don't know why he keeps sending Wormtail away…" Or if he did at all, because Robards - despite apparating straight to wherever Harry told Padfoot Wormtail was going to be - was yet to see a whisker of him.

"Are you sure they're real?" Draco asked.

"They're real," Harry said. He was sure they were, but there was something about them that was different than normal, something that Harry hadn't been able to put his finger on yet. None of them argued with him; whether it was because they were willing to take him at his word, or simply because they knew it would be useless to argue with him, Harry couldn't be sure. Harry glanced up at the staff table again out of habit, though Padfoot had still not made an appearance.

"Snape's staring at you again," he said to Draco.

"Yes, I know- Don't all look at him!" Draco said, as Ron and Hermione both turned to check.

"Sorry!" Hermione said, turning around as if she'd been stung - not subtle at all. Ron ignored Draco entirely, looking up at the staff table for a few moments, before turning back around. He moved his empty plate aside and set his fork down on the wood of the table directly in front of him. This time, it was Harry and Hermione that exchanged a look (Draco was hiding from Snape behind his book); there was almost always something in front of Ron, whether it was a quill, a fork, a bit of scrap parchment.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when it had started, but Hermione'd noticed a few weeks ago and mentioned it to Harry, who hadn't been able to stop noticing it since. They'd asked him about it a few times, but Ron's ears would go red and he'd mutter something about it being silly and not to worry, and that it was nothing, really.

It clearly wasn't nothing; Ron was currently frowning down at his fork with a intensity he usually reserved for Quidditch or chess. But, he was obviously reluctant to talk about it, and Harry wasn't actually worried, just curious, so he'd let Ron explain when he was ready.

A plate with two pieces of jam-laden toast appeared in front of Harry as someone sat down on his other side.

"Reckon I've seen you eat more before one Quidditch game than you have at breakfast all of this week," George said. Fred, who'd sat down on his other side, nodded and gave the toast a significant look. Harry picked a piece up and took an unenthusiastic bite, earning him a pair of identical grins, and a rather satisfied look from Hermione, who'd said something similar to him yesterday. "Something on your mind, Harrykins?"

"You've had that look about you," George added. Harry wasn't sure what _that look_ meant, but Ron and Hermione both nodded seriously, as if they understood exactly what George was talking about.

"What look?" Harry asked. He had another bite of toast. He hadn't felt like eating, but now that he'd started, he was suddenly hungry, and the jam was pretty good; just the right balance between sweet and tart.

"The something's-going-to-happen-but-I-haven't-worked-out-what-yet look," Fred said. "Hasn't really ever boded well for anyone in the past, so we thought we'd check in…" Despite his light-hearted tone, Fred's scent and expression was grim. And, despite _that_ , Hermione looked like she wanted to laugh.

"I have a look for that?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yeah," George said. "Everyone knows it, too."

"Hogwarts can be pretty chaotic, but you can usually tell what sort of day you're going to have by the ceiling - for the weather - by Filch - because if Peeves has been playing up, he won't be at breakfast - and by the look on your face." His tone was teasing, but Harry was fairly sure he wasn't joking. "And you've got a look this morning, so…"

"Weird dreams," Harry admitted, and Fred and George exchanged a look. "And- yeah I haven't worked out what, or why." He smiled wryly. "Sorry." There was also the Tournament, which had been hanging over him since term started. He still had no idea what to expect from it, but knew it was probably not going to be anything good.

Dreams aside, Harry's term so far had been uneventful, and he'd been fairly relaxed as a result, knowing that whatever Voldemort had planned involved the Tournament, and that the Tournament didn't start until the end of October... The end of October was rapidly approaching, though - Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive next week, and with the latter would come Karkaroff - and then Harry would have to be on his guard again.

He was saved from having to explain any of that to Fred and George though, by the sound of wings; Hedwig landed gracefully in front of Harry, her wings sending Hermione's curls blowing into her face and Ron's. She offered Harry her leg and he pulled off both letters - one addressed to him, one to Padfoot , both in Dora's handwriting - only to be nipped in response.

"I'm not going to read it," Harry assured her, "but he's not here and I've got Defence second." She nipped him again, gentler this time, helped herself to some of Ron's juice - since Harry had none of his own - and launched herself back into the air.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, and Harry looked up, but she wasn't talking to him: the twins had received their own post from a small tawny owl, but George was pocketing the letter rather than reading it, and both smelled shifty as they stood.

"Don't be nosey." Fred leaned across the table to tweak her nose, George sniggering as she swatted him away. Hermione scrunched her face up at their retreating backs.

"That was… you don't think they're up to something, do you?" she asked Harry, frowning slightly.

"They're always up to something," Draco said, not seeming even slightly concerned. Harry set Dora's letter aside in favour of the two photographs she'd included; one was of Stella looking up at the camera with big brown eyes and a gummy smile - she still looked a bit like a garden gnome, but the resemblance seemed to be decreasing with each passing day - and sucking on her chubby fist. The second was of Moony lying on the couch in his cottage, with Stella on his chest, the pair of them fast asleep. "The less you know, Granger, the less you're implicated."

"I suppose," Hermione said, and her eyes - which had been following the twins - dropped to the photographs Harry had just offered her. She took them, smiling.

They stayed until their breakfast dishes vanished, and Ron - who'd been still and silent for some time now - made a startled, triumphant sort of noise, then paused, frowned, and groaned.

* * *

"Thanks, Professor."

"No worries," Sirius said, with a distracted smile; his fourth years were arriving, and he was a little nervous about their lesson today. "See you on Thursday."

"Yes, sir." Claire said, then flushed pink and dragged her friends away, giggling. When he'd been their age, that reaction would have delighted him. Now - while still flattering - it made him rather uncomfortable and Sirius was glad his fourth years were noisy enough that he couldn't overhear whatever it was they were whispering. Harry, though - lingering by the door with Cedric - clearly could; his expression was positively scandalised, and he looked up at Sirius and flushed almost as brightly as Claire had before wrinkling his nose. Cedric laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and continued out.

The fourth years hovered by the walls, correctly interpreting the way the desks had been pushed to one side as an impending practical lesson. Conversation quietened to a nervous murmur.

"Blaise, can you collect everyone's essays and put them on my desk, please." Sirius pushed off said desk and went to stand before his class. "The rest of you, bunch up. We've covered a lot of curse theory and ethics so far this term, and last lesson you'll remember we had an introduction into the Unforgivables." And what a lesson that had been; it wouldn't have been an easy one with any class, but, though he'd kept it factual and not used any photographs or illustrations or demonstrations to further explain anything, Neville had still gone white as a sheet, Hermione had clenched her hand so tightly around her quill that it had snapped and Ron had gone very still and not looked up from his desk the entire lesson. Harry had shrunk in his chair, uncomfortable and unhappy, with his jaw set and arms folded.

"Today, I'll be giving you a slightly more practical introduction - to the Imperius curse." Ron went white, and Harry shifted slightly closer, muttering something Sirius didn't hear.

"But it's illegal-" Lavender began.

"Yes," Sirius said. "But I've got permission from the Ministry and Dumbledore to do it anyway. That said, if you don't want a turn fighting it, you're more than welcome to stand out and just watch. And, if you're not comfortable doing even that much, you can go - at any point. Today won't be graded, and there won't be homework." Hermione looked both relieved and displeased by that news, and Sirius had to hide a smile.

He was silent for a few moments, but no one moved.

"All right, then. I'll get you to line up - usual rules-" Which meant no more than two people per House in a row. "-and come forward one at a time-" He gestured for them to start moving, and kept talking while they did: "The curse is going to make you feel… light. Free. You're going to want to do exactly what I say... which is sort of the point of it. The key to fighting is to either find loopholes in your instructions, or to just be stubborn and refuse to do what you're told. Sounds pretty straightforward, I know, but trust me when I say it isn't; the more reasonable my instructions are, the less you'll be inclined to argue and the more likely you'll be to follow them. Similarly, the more you trust the caster, the less likely you are to question them and just get on with what you've been told." He looked at Harry as he said it, then at Ron; they'd ended up at the front of the line because everyone else had made a concerted effort to not go first. Hermione and Draco were a little further back but he looked at them too. "Any questions? No?" He gestured for Ron to step forward, and Ron did, pale beneath his freckles, fists clenched. " _Imperio_." A glazed look came over Ron's face, and Harry - next in line - looked haunted, for all that he'd clearly tried to be reassuring before. "Sing the school song."

Ron began without hesitation. In the middle of the line, Hydrus and Daphne laughed and whispered to each other until they caught Sirius' warning look and fell quiet, insincere looks of contrition on their faces.

"... young with scabby knees..." Interestingly, while there had been no pause in the song, Ron's ears were turning steadily redder, which meant he was self-aware enough to be embarrassed.

When he'd finished, Sirius released him from the spell, patted him on the shoulder and gestured for Harry to step forward. " _Imperio_ ," Sirius said, with no small amount of trepidation; Harry had apparently thrown Wormtail's curse at the end of last term, but this time, it would be coming from Sirius and that would put him at a disadvantage. Harry's expression became strangely empty, and Sirius didn't like it. He swallowed. "Act like a lion." Harry hunched over like he might go down onto all fours, but then he twitched and stopped, still awkwardly bent. He was fighting it, Sirius could see it in his eyes. "Be a lion, Harry," Sirius said, more firmly this time. For a moment, Harry stayed where he was, then, slowly straightened, expression relaxing until it was close to normal, though there was still something in his eyes... A murmur went through the line.

"Did he beat it?" Parvati asked after a moment, from between Lavender and Tracey.

"Not yet," Sirius told the class, but kept his eyes on Harry's slightly vacant ones. "Not quite. But he's arguing with it… found a loophole. If I give him more specific instructions, though... Harry, roar like a lion…"

Harry pressed his lips together but his mouth moved as if he was chewing something unpleasant. Sirius grinned, proud of him, but said, "Roar, Harry." Harry made _a_ sound deep in his throat that was more a growl than a roar, mouth still clamped shut. "Properly," Sirius said, arching an eyebrow. "Nice and loud." Harry was silent, eyes glittering like he was in on some private joke. Sirius had had enough experience with Kreacher over the years to guess what loophole he might have used this time.

"So everyone can hear you."

Harry's mouth started to twist again.

Then, after several long seconds, in hoarse voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, "No." At the back of the line, Ron shook his head, grinning for the first time that lesson, and midway down, Hermione and Draco seemed impressed but unsurprised. Sirius tilted his head to send Harry on his way, and Dean and Neville reached out to clap him on the back as he passed them.

"Theodore," Sirius said, and he stepped forward. " _Imperio_."

Theodore did an admirable job at pretending to be an owl, and Millicent - when asked to act out her favourite children's story - made a very convincing Babbity Rabbity. Seamus - given the same instruction - chose a muggle one, and tried to pitch himself off Sirius' desk pretending to be a Humpty Dumpty (whatever _that_ was) and was only saved from injury because Dean was familiar with the story and realised what was going to happen in time to warn Sirius to cast a Cushioning Charm.

When asked to dance, Pansy performed a short ballet routine, and Tracey did some awkward disco style movements. Parvati did an impression of McGonagall - accent and all - and Lavender pretended to be an American witch and told them a number of funny stories about her made up life at Ilvermorny.

"If you didn't know her, though, you'd believe it, wouldn't you?" Sirius asked pointedly. That - a reminder of the dangers of the curse - sobered the class up.

Blaise was the first since Harry to show any signs of resisting; when Sirius told him to be a Quidditch goal hoop, he did as he was told and stood with his arms in a circle above his head, but hissed and argued with himself and swore aloud as he did so. It earned him quite a few raised eyebrows from the other Slytherins - Blaise was usually quiet, cutting when he couldn't be, and refined - but Harry smiled slightly from his place in the line, perhaps remembering a time when Blaise was a Benson, not a Zabini.

"Quiet," Sirius said, after Blaise let loose a string of expletives that had more than a few of the others tittering. Blaise fell silent, expression mutinous, and Sirius gave him a few seconds - both to let him try to fight it, but also to emphasise that Blaise had only been able to talk because Sirius had let him - before releasing him, with five points to Slytherin. Neville, similarly, struggled against the curse; after Sirius gave him his instructions, he stood, quivering, for almost twenty seconds before giving in and doing three cartwheels and a backflip.

"I thought you had it," Sirius said, after awarding him five points of his own.

"I was arguing," Neville said shyly, "but I knew wasn't going to win, so it was easier to just go with it than to get hurt resisting… I can't actually do cartwheels, you know."

Vincent was up next, and sang a very impressive opera song, and Goyle flopped around on the floor like a fish out of water. He came out of it laughing, and Hydrus, Daphne and Nadia all laughed too - with him or at him, Sirius couldn't tell - but the rest of the Slytherins and the Gryffindors were subdued. Sirius was grimly pleased; he'd picked instructions that wouldn't do more than vaguely embarrass the kids, but that would hopefully impart on them how much damage the curse could do in the wrong hands, how far from their normal self a person could be forced to behave while they were under it.

" _Imperio_ ," Sirius said, when Hermione reached the front. He had her commentate an imaginary Quidditch match, and she did so very enthusiastically, even looking to Sirius at one point to make sure she'd used the right term for a particular foul. Sirius was surprised, initially, that she didn't fight it, or at least do something to indicate she was aware of the situation - like Ron's red ears, or Blaise's protests - but she didn't. After giving it a bit more thought, though, he was less surprised; it wasn't a lack of mental strength, necessarily, but Hermione had always had a need to prove herself, especially to figures of authority. Her very nature made her susceptible.

She came out of it looking disappointed, and embarrassed, and accepted a pat on the shoulder from a grim Ron, and an understanding grimace from Harry as she passed them in the line.

" _Imperio_." Rather than go dreamy and lax, Draco stiffened, eyes glazing over not in a vacant way, but in a withdrawn sort of way. He also went pale - paler than usual. "Pretend you're Severus Snape," Sirius said. Draco was the only one he trusted with that particular instruction; Snape, while he'd been better in the last week or so, was incredibly unpopular at the moment, and impressions from anyone else would probably have been… unfavourable.

Draco's eyes were suddenly hard and very present, but only for a moment; then, his eyes and scent were vulnerable and slightly panicky, even if his posture was as stiff and upright as ever. They were all his own reactions, not a result of the Imperius, though, which was incredibly impressive, but Sirius was too concerned by his reaction to focus on that just then.

"Draco?" he said, lowering his wand. "Are you all right?" Draco jerked his head to the side and took a step back.

"I- can I-?" He made a vague motion toward the door.

"If you need to, absolutely," Sirius said. Draco all but fled. Sirius looked to Harry, but Ron was already stepping out of line. He grabbed his own bag and Draco's abandoned one, and walked quickly to the door. "Thanks, Ron." Sirius looked at Harry again, and he was frowning, but it was curious more than worried, and that made Sirius feel a little better.

"Next?"

* * *

"You all right, mate?" Weasley asked, puffing a little as he fell into line beside Draco. Draco wasn't surprised, not really, but he almost wished it had been Granger or Potter that had come after him.

"There's nothing actually _wrong_ with me," Draco said, except there _was,_ and he was not okay, not-

"That's not a yes, though," Weasley said. He adjusted his bag - bags, Draco noticed absently, because his own was there as well - and glanced over at Draco. There was something all too understanding in his tone that - which, along with the set of his shoulders, the and the grim lines around his mouth - suggested the lesson had unsettled Weasley, and not just because of Draco's reaction to it. And, yet, here he was putting that aside to try to make sure Draco was all right. "I mean, you fought it, so..."

"Occlumency," Draco said, with a wave of his hand, and felt a little guilty because he had no intention of checking to make sure Weasley was all right, not just then, because there were other things on his mind. "But that's- that's not-"

"Is it to do with… you know… the dragons?"

"No," Draco said honestly, and Weasley looked a little relieved. "I just- can we not talk about it? Please." If it had been Potter, he could have talked about it. Potter would go quiet, but there wouldn't be anything pitying about it. Granger would react angrily. Either of those, Draco could deal with. Weasley, though, Weasley would be shocked, horrified. Weasley wouldn't understand, and Draco couldn't deal with that at the moment.

"Sure," Weasley said, putting his hands up in a little gesture of surrender. "One for Snape, I s'pose."

"Hardly," Draco said, so surprised by the sudden change in topic to remember to brood. "In case it's escaped your notice, he and I aren't really on good terms at the moment."

"Where are we going, then?" Weasley asked, looking equally surprised. Draco took a moment to get his bearings. "I just figured- this is the way to the dungeons, so…"

It was.

Draco stopped dead in the corridor, suddenly uncertain. He hadn't really been giving his destination any thought, had just started walking, and, while he'd been telling the truth when he said he and Severus were on fairly strained terms, he sort of wanted to talk to Severus about this anyway. What did it say about him, that, despite his distance and occasional outright rudeness, Severus was still the first person Draco wanted to see when he felt unsettled? Severus hadn't ever turned Draco away when he really needed him, but there was a first time for everything, and, with things as they were, that first time could be today. Draco wouldn't even be particularly surprised, though his stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought.

"I suppose it is," Draco said, and started walking again.

"Wait, so you are going to him, or you're not?"

"I am," Draco said, and grimaced. "For better or worse." He was a little nervous about Weasley's response; Severus had been particularly nasty to all of Draco's friends this term, and Weasley had never had much fondness or patience for Severus to begin with. Weasley offered him a small smile.

"Even if things are a bit- even if he's a massive-" Weasley cut himself off with visible effort, and grinned, sheepish. "Look, what I'm trying to say, is everything else can be complicated, but when it comes down to it, he's your family, and just 'cause I don't like him right now doesn't mean you're not allowed to want to see him. Just don't expect me to come with you all the way; he'll probably dock fifty points the second he sees me, for walking too loudly, or having too many freckles, or something."

Draco grimaced again, because that was entirely possible.

They parted ways at the steps leading down to the dungeons, Weasley passing over his bag, and promising to grab him an apple from the Great Hall and send it to Arithmancy with Potter if Draco was with Severus through the whole break.

Then, Draco was alone, second-guessing himself for having come down to the dungeons at all, nervous about what Severus would say. His mood was not improved when he reached Severus' office, and found - for the first time ever - that it was locked and wouldn't let him in, even when he said his name and that he wanted to wait in there for Severus' lesson to finish. That had never not worked before, except for during first year when Severus had locked himself away just after losing his leg.

Stymied, Draco walked slowly to Severus' classroom, knocked once, and poked his head in when Severus curtly invited him to.

Twenty-something curious fifth years turned to look at Draco, but he ignored them in favour of his godfather. When he opened his mouth to speak, though, he found he couldn't, found himself feeling silly for being there at all, and worried that Severus would roll his eyes and send him away.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?" Severus said, arching an eyebrow. He seemed concerned - not obviously, but it was there on his face, and even in his tone - and Draco wondered what his own face looked like to get that sort of response.

"Your office is locked," Draco said after a moment, as calmly as he could manage.

The fifth years began to whisper amongst themselves, while Severus studied Draco. Draco was only managing not to fidget because of hours and hours spent learning _not_ to under Severus' watchful eye, and even then it was a near thing.

"Wait for me," Severus said. "I'll be there shortly."


	15. Loyalties

Draco had been standing outside his office for only a few seconds when Severus came sweeping up the corridor to unlock the door with a tap of his wand. He gestured for Draco to go inside, and then seated himself behind his desk, expression friendlier than it had been in weeks.

"What's happened?" Severus asked.

"Is your class okay?" Draco asked, glancing back at the office door.

"Theory lesson. They should be more than capable of finishing without me," Severus said. "I won't be missed."

Draco nodded jerkily and said, "Imperius lesson in Defence."

"Ah." Severus considered him, eyes a little sharper now. "You struggled?"

"No," Draco said. "No, actually, getting rid of it was easy. Occlumency to keep it from taking root-" Unlike Severus' probes, the curse had seemed to wrap around his whole mind, rather than just push at a particular place, but it had only been a matter of spreading his defences wider. "-and then Black said to pretend I was you, so I let enough of the curse in to let myself do what you'd do and get rid of it completely."

Severus, whose face had twitched with something - annoyance, perhaps, or exasperation - when Draco mentioned Black's instructions, frowned.

"I'm flattered you think I can simply _get rid_ of an Imperius curse, but I regret to inform you that even I have to fight them. Admittedly Occlumency - as you've said - keeps it from taking root while I do that, but I've never known it to be as simple as what you've described." His frown turned thoughtful. "Sometimes the Imperius curse does that, allows people to act in ways they shouldn't be able to because under it they have complete conviction, but even so, what you've described is… impressive."

Draco grinned before he could stop himself; praise from Severus was rare, even when they were on good terms. Severus' expression smoothed into something blank, but then he blinked and offered Draco a tiny smile before sobering.

"But I don't think that's why you're here."

"It's not. Not exactly." Draco swallowed. "The- when Black cast the curse, it was familiar." Severus went very still. "The way it felt, all… how it made me light-headed. Black's was different, not as subtle, but it was still… Father used it. Last Christmas. He used it to make me tell him the truth about why I freed Dobby, and I didn't realise what it was, I just listened and… Father _used_ it."

There was pity on Severus' face, and a few other, subtler things; a bit of anger, and something calculating.

"Has he used it at any other time?" Severus asked.

"No," Draco said. "No, that was the only time."

"You're certain?"

"Yes." Severus offered him no apology on Father's behalf, no words to justify his behavior, or to condemn it. Draco surprised himself by not minding. It was enough to have Severus know.

"So it isn't to blame for your sudden change in allegiance over the summer?"

"No." Draco was instantly wary; he smoothed his expression - Severus did the same - and checked his Occlumency was in place. "Mother and Father presented the options to me, of course, but the choice was entirely mine. And it was an easy one," he added.

"And remind me again what exactly your choice was?" Severus folded his hands and rested his chin on them, studying Draco with dark eyes. Draco tensed, but there was no probe of Legillimency, just Severus' scrutiny.

"To be a spy," Draco said, as calmly as he could. "You know that." Both truths; Severus was looking for something, but if it was a lie he wouldn't find it.

"I do," he said. "Though which side has your loyalty remains to be seen." It wasn't an accusation, but rather a statement, and one said so casually that Draco's insides turned to ice. He kept his face clear.

"I'd have thought it obvious which side has my loyalty," Draco said, taking care to inject just the right amount of disdain into his tone. It wasn't a lie.

"Perhaps it is," Severus said, still calm and casual. Draco had missed him being like this - he'd been so on edge of late, so unpredictable -though he wished Severus had picked another time, and another conversation to remember himself during.

"I ought to…" Draco rose, gesturing to the door. "Thank you for speaking with me, I-"

"Sit," Severus said. "We're about to have a difficult and uncomfortable conversation." Draco stayed where he was, uncertain. "Sit," Severus said, as he himself moved over to the cabinet built into the base of one of the many shelves of ingredients on the walls of his office. He bent and pulled out a pensieve, the one he'd always used with Draco, then returned and set it on the desk between them.

"What's the conversation about?" Draco asked.

"Loyalty," Severus said, prodding the pensieve's swirling contents with his wand. Out of its depths, Severus' voice came: " _Do not pretend you wish to spy to please the Dark Lord, Draco. You've yet to meet him. Any loyalty you feel toward him is second-hand, impressed upon you by your father or myself-"_

" _But I know what he stands for."_ Draco recognised his own voice, sounding far more confident than he remembered feeling during the actual conversation. " _And I know what the world he hopes to create looks like. That's more than enough of an incentive, I think, at least to start with. And once I do meet the Dark Lord… if he's like everyone says, then I expect maintaining my choice will be easy."_

Then:

"... _don't compare me to Wormtail."_ Draco's voice again, this time with a bit of bite to it. Severus withdrew his wand, and the pensieve quietened. Draco gave Severus an uncertain look.

"That convinced me more than anything Dumbledore had to say," Severus said, into the silence that followed.

"What did Dumbledore have to say?" Draco asked sharply, and felt a momentary stab of betrayal; had Weasley said something? He was the only one that aside from Draco, and Draco certainly hadn't been discussing his loyalties with the Headmaster-

"That Potter's not worried about you." Severus sneered. Draco felt immediate relief that Dumbledore didn't actually know anything for certain, then - how could he, when Potter himself didn't? - and then guilty for doubting Weasley, even for a moment. Then, a surge of fondness for Potter, for trusting him, for not doubting him - not even to Dumbledore - even after Draco had taken his memories.

"My time as a spy would be short lived if he was," Draco pointed out, keeping his voice even.

"You're self-aware," Severus said. "Wormtail's certainly not done anything I'd consider worth aspiring to, but there's no denying the role he played in the war is similar to the path you've set for yourself." Severus tilted his head, ever so slightly, considering. "You must know that."

"I'm aware some would view it that way, yes," Draco said, stiffly.

A slight smile appeared on Severus' face.

"And yet," he murmured, "you do not see the comparison as uncomfortable, or undesirable, but rather, insulting. Why?" The question was sharp, Severus' eyes sharper.

"Like you said," Draco said with disdain, "Wormtail's hardly anything to aspire to."

"But what other example do you have?"

There was a beat of silence, then:

"You," Draco said. He was too confused - was this a trick question, somehow? - to sound properly scathing. Severus blinked, as if genuinely surprised by Draco's answer. Then:

"Yes," Severus said slowly. "I suppose my example is a better one than Wormtail's. Following it will not be an easy thing, however."

"I already am," Draco said, as casually as he could. "It's not too bad, so far."

"Are you?" Severus asked silkily.

"Yes," Draco said.

"Lie," Severus said softly, and Draco felt ill, because it was. "Or at least, you believe it to be. I think our loyalties are far more aligned than you know."

"I- I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," Draco said.

"I'll be blunt, then," Severus said. "If you believe my loyalties lie with the Dark Lord, you are mistaken." It was some sort of test; it had to be. "And I suspect I have been mistaken in believing yours had shifted there also. I suspect yours lie where mine do."

"Where might that be?" Draco asked coldly.

"With Dumbledore," Severus said. It was masterfully done, the words delivered after a slight pause, after a small, bracing breath in, as if to make Draco believe he was nervous about saying so. His voice was soft, and almost surprised, as if he was saying the words aloud for the first time, and his expression appeared about as open as Draco had ever known it. Nothing about the delivery made Draco think it was a lie, but this was Severus, who had taught Draco to lie, Severus who was a master, Severus, who was no doubt testing him on Father's behalf, or on behalf of the Dark Lord.

"You're the one that's mistaken," Draco said, tone still cold "if you think I've given my loyalty to Dumbledore." He didn't appreciate Severus doing this to him, had thought Severus would look out for him as he had in previous years. Draco didn't hold it against him - one did not disobey the Dark Lord - but he would certainly remember it, remember that everything - even Draco - came second to the Dark Lord in Severus' mind.

"No?" Severus asked.

"No," Draco said firmly. It wasn't a lie; certainly Dumbledore was a better option than the Dark Lord, but Potter was better than both of them. Potter followed Dumbledore, of course, but if Potter turned away from him tomorrow, decided to follow someone else, or decided to _lead_ , he'd still have Draco.

"I had thought…" Severus looked incredibly nervous - by his standards, anyway. "I was certain… and Potter…"

"Well, you thought wrong," Draco said. He got to his feet. "You can assure my father, or the Dark Lord - or whoever it is you're reporting to - of my loyalty."

"I report to Dumbledore," Severus said, face grey, and with a bleak sort of resignation in his voice. "I wasn't lying about that." He wasn't, at least as far as Draco could tell. Draco stood still on his side of the desk, sure it was a trap, but not able to understand the design of it just yet.

"Why would you be loyal to Dumbledore?" Draco asked, folding his arms.

"Truthfully? There was a woman," Severus said. Draco couldn't hide his surprise; he'd expected something about power, or leadership, or kindness, or _something_. "I… we were on opposite sides of the war, but I still... we were… friends." Draco struggled to imagine Severus with a friend. Oddly, it was Black that came to mind, but they could hardly stand each other, so it was strange that he'd thought of him. "I heard the Dark Lord had his sights on her, and, though I had requested she be spared, I didn't trust him. I approached Dumbledore, and offered my loyalty in return for her protection."

"And he protected her?"

"He tried," Severus said. The words hung heavy in the office.

"So the Dark Lord-"

"Killed her," Severus said, eyes distant, and grieving. It dawned on Draco that maybe the woman had been a bit more to Severus than a friend, and his mind boggled, trying to wrap itself around the idea of his godfather with a partner, or a lover. "I- it was not a good time. I was- I don't know what I would have done, where I would have ended up, but Dumbledore pointed out that while I had lost her, her… reason for fighting - the… cause... she died defending - lived on. I had a purpose again. It has not always been easy with Dumbledore, but the trust of necessity he afforded me when I first approached him has grown over the years into a complete and genuine trust. It is not something I wish to throw away."

Draco considered it. He knew Severus had found himself a way in to Dumbledore's circle of course, but never how. And he'd certainly never thought Severus might not be loyal to the Dark Lord, had always assumed anything he did to help Potter or Black was to keep his cover with Dumbledore.

"I've never heard any of this," Draco said, not knowing what else to say.

"Of course not," Severus said. "If you had, it would mean what I've just told you is common knowledge, and I assure you, it most certainly is _not_."

"I don't know whether to believe you or not," Draco said, after several long moments. "I- you're a spy, perhaps for the Dark Lord, perhaps for Dumbledore…. either way you're good at convincing people of your loyalty. This could be a test, for either side-"

"How can I convince you it's not?" Draco didn't know if the edge of desperation in Severus' voice was deliberate or not. Draco didn't know anything anymore. "I have memories, to back up my story-"

"Memories can be faked," Draco said. "Or tampered with."

"Then perhaps…" Severus looked uncertain. "Perhaps… you can simply trust me, as you have in the past."

"I want to," Draco said, swallowing. "But I don't know if I can afford to."

"Perhaps… perhaps this, then…" Severus drew a memory from his own head, and let it drop from the tip of his wand and into the pensieve.

Severus' voice echoed out of it: ". _.. why are muggleborns different?_ " Severus' tone was curt, unimpressed, and yet gentle and patient in a way that was both forced and genuine, as if he was humouring whoever he was with. It was the sort of tone Draco would imagine him taking with children, except Draco knew better; he had never heard Severus sound that way, not even with Slytherin first years.

And yet, it _was_ a child that spoke back - a boy, Draco thought - with a high voice, and the polished, rather snotty tone of a pureblood:

" _They have filthy bl_ -"

" _If you finish that sentence,_ " Severus snarled, " _I will force you to sample every potions ingredient as you rearrange them the next time you visit me._ " Draco gaped at the pensieve, because _that_ part, he remembered, which meant- Merlin, he sounded so young, and so… bratty. So proper. He considered himself fairly proper even now, but it was clear, comparing this memory of Severus' with the one that they'd listened to before, that Weasley and Potter and Granger had all crept into his voice, softening the crispness of a word here, altering his pronunciation there… His younger self - would he have been eight here, or nine? - would have been properly horrified by the little touches of 'commoner' that adorned Draco's voice now.

" _But they d_ -"

" _My stores contain sloth brains, and acromantula venom, and powdered troll toenails_ ," Severus' voice continued, and Draco chuckled. Severus' mouth twitched, and the two of them stood there in shared amusement, while the pensieve's sound paused - a pause, where, surely Severus would have been glaring at Draco's younger self. " _Come here._ "

" _I didn't say it-"_ Memory Draco's voice was shrill with panic, and so, so young. " _I stopped_ -"

"Now. _Give me your hand."_

" _What-_ "

"Sectum _._ " Young-Draco yelped while Severus repeated the spell, and Draco remembered this part too. He looked down at the scar Severus had left him with that day, a thin white line across his palm.

" _Oww. You_ cut _me!_ "

" _My mother came from a pureblood line as impressive as your own._ " Severus sounded impatient. " _My father was a muggle. According to your theory, I should have filthy blood. Does my blood look filthy to you?_ "

" _N-no_." Young-Draco sounded close to tears.

" _Is mine perhaps darker? Is it brown, like mud? Does yours glitter like liquefied rubies in contrast_?" Draco hadn't heard it then, had probably been too sore and confused and young, but along with the sarcasm and frustration, there was an almost teasing edge to Severus' voice.

" _N-no._ "

" _I will ask you again. What, given your recent…_ enlightenment _, makes us - the supposedly proper wizarding stock - so superior to muggleborns_?"

" _We know about magic."_ Young-Draco's voice was tiny. " _They don't think to use their wands for simple tasks like we do, and they don't know any spells before they go to school_ -"

" _You know spells now, then?_ "

" _I know a few_." Draco sounded distinctly defensive this time. " _I don't have my wand yet, so-_ "

" _So your proper magical education has not yet begun. And I daresay it will not begin, until you step off the Hogwarts Express for the first time_."

" _I guess."_ Sulky now, and a bit confused. " _Is it how powerful they are? We've had magic longer, so_ -"

" _I have known powerful witches and wizards of_ all _heritage._ "

" _Looks then._ "

" _You can tell heritage with a look?"_ Severus' voice was mocking. Knowing him as he did now, and familiar as he was with the slight nuances of his godfather's tone, he suspected Severus had actually quite enjoyed himself. " _Then I commend you on your acting ability; you seemed genuinely surprised when I revealed the truth about my father."_

" _Then what's the difference?_ "

" _You haven't worked it out?"_ This time, Draco suspected it was he who as glaring during the pause. " _The difference, Draco, between a muggleborn and a pureblood, is that one has magical parents, and the other does not._ "

" _That- no, that doesn't count!_ "

" _Then I suppose it's nothing._ "

" _Nothing? But- if they're not different, then what's the problem with them_?" Draco's younger self sounded outraged, and Draco chuckled again, more out of embarrassment than anything else. What would Granger have said, if she'd met Draco back then? How had Potter - who had already met Draco at that point - not hexed him every time he opened his mouth?

" _Who says there is one?"_

" _You don't think there is?_ "

" _I don't think my opinion matters. You should be free to reach your own conclusion on the matter._ "

" _Then why-_ "

" _Because, Draco, in order to reach a conclusion, one must have all of the information, not merely one side of it."_ Another pause, this one decidedly thoughtful. " _Are you ready to go home?_ "

The pensieve's surface quivered and quietened.

"Do you remember that?" Severus asked quietly.

"Only vaguely," Draco said. "The scar, obviously, and what point you were making when you gave it to me. The rest… I remember myself in a better light than I appear to deserve." He chuckled the same embarrassed chuckle as before, and Severus smirked. "I imagine my younger self would be horrified if he could see me now, but I'm horrified to look back at myself like that, so…"

"'That' being trying to justify the inferiority of muggleborns?" Draco glanced at the scar on his palm, then curled his fingers over it.

"It seems an odd lesson for a Death Eater to give another Death Eater's son," Draco said quietly.

"Quite," Severus said, and the look he gave Draco was both searching and hopeful. "But perhaps not a strange one for a former Death Eater to give a Death Eater's son, especially if he was hoping to stop him from following the same path as his Death Eater father…"

"Better for him to follow his godfather instead, then?" Draco asked, holding back a small smile. "Following the cause a woman he cared for died for, and Dumbledore?"

"That _was_ the path," Severus said carefully, "but, while Dumbledore has my trust, and I will always care for her memory. But, in more recent years, another factor has come to replace them as the primary driver for my allegiance." He gave Draco a significant look. "You can imagine I was quite displeased when that driver suddenly announced his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and I realised I'd have little choice but to follow."

"I- yes, that would have been unfortunate," Draco said. Severus gave a curt nod, arms folded. They watched each other for a few long moments.

"So where does this leave us?" he asked. "Do you intend to leave here and inform the Dark Lord of my betrayal? Or was I right earlier, when I suggested you might be loyal to Dumbledore, as I am?"

"I'm not loyal to Dumbledore," Draco said, just to see Severus' face fall, to confirm this was real. It did, and Draco let a little smile show. "But I'd say we're aligned nonetheless. Regardless, I won't be turning you over to the Dark Lord, or his followers."

"If you do not stand with the Dark Lord, you _must_ stand with Dumbledore…" Draco did not often see Severus look lost. "Who else- _Potter._ " He grunted the name, but managed to sound incredulous as well. "It is, isn't it?" Draco met his stare evenly. "Typical." Severus sounded somewhat resigned, but not particularly impressed. "Does he know that?"

"He knows he can trust me," Draco replied. "That's all he needs to know."

"A wise decision." Severus steepled his fingers. "How has your Occlumency come along? Have you kept it up?"

"Yes, actually," Draco said, a little bitingly. He'd made a lot of progress in the last few months, no thanks to Severus.

"We ought to resume your lessons."

" _I_ wasn't the one that ended them," Draco muttered.

"It would not have been a good idea, with perceived circumstances as they were," Severus said. "But now it is imperative. Your safety depends on your ability to keep the Dark Lord out-" He sounded a little anxious about that. "-and it is not an easy thing to do."

"Then we'd better make sure I'm ready," Draco said, swallowing. "Because after this conversation, yours does too."


	16. Beauxbatons And Durmstrang

Hogwarts was always a rather hectic place to live, so that Harry thought the days leading up to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's arrival were some of the maddest he'd ever spent there, was saying something:

Amongst the students, all anyone seemed able to talk or think about was the Tournament - who was going to enter it, how the Champions would be chosen, how dangerous the tasks would actually be, and who'd be judging it - and the number of accidents in lessons due to distraction or inattention increased rather dramatically; Harry overheard Katie Bell saying it took her four hours to get a simple Anti-Ache potion from Madam Pomfrey because the Hospital Wing was overflowing with students with accidental injuries, or with injuries from duelling in the corridors, or venturing out into the forest to practice for the Tournament.

Draco told them Snape had amended his lesson plans so every class had theory rather than brewing for the entire week leading up to it, after three melted cauldrons in three consecutive lessons. Padfoot had also scrapped his lesson plans, but it was to embrace the madness rather than curb it; he was holding casual duelling tournaments in his lessons, or taking students out onto the grounds to run obstacle courses. The latter, he confided to Harry, who'd stayed behind to help him wrestle a boggart back into its trunk, had been inspired by Moony, who'd done something similar with his third years when he'd taught at Hogwarts.

The teachers stalked the halls with a vengeance, enforcing the proper uniform, ensuring wandering pets were corralled back to their owners' dormitories, and coordinating a clean-up of the castle; suits of armour gleamed silver, faded banners were patched up or replaced, and portraits were scrubbed clean.

"Blimey," Ron said, as they watched Padfoot and Snape wrestle a swearing suit of armour into a broom cupboard under McGonagall's direction. "And I thought Mum was bad when we have visitors."

"This has nothing on Mum," Ginny said, slowing to join them, with Colin in tow. "Filch chased me up three floors yesterday because I tracked a bit of dirt in after visiting Hagrid." The suit flailed - arm nearly taking Padfoot's head off - and shouted curse words. A passing Prefect cast a Silencing Charm on the area around a group of wide-eyed first years, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because of the suit of armour, or because of Padfoot and Snape, who were swearing just as much - though quietly. "I think it's a bit of a shame, honestly. Hogwarts isn't Hogwarts without this sort of thing. It's part of its charm."

"I don't know about charm," Draco said, eyebrow raising as the suit of armour shouted something particularly vulgar that had Ron sniggering and Hermione and Colin looking rather shocked. "But it's certainly got character."

"Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are both extremely prestigious schools," Hermione said. "I can't really blame the teachers for wanting to make a good impression." Personally, Harry liked Hogwarts just the way it was; old, a bit droughty and dusty, quirky, and, most importantly, Karkaroff-less.

"I can," Ron said. "Karkaroff's going to be too busy being an evil git to care if there's a bit of dust on the windowsills, or that I wear my tie a bit loose." He grinned at Harry, who gave him a rueful grin back.

Fred and George, who were with Lee Jordan a bit further back, let out a cheer as Padfoot slammed the broom cupboard closed.

"While I usually try not to agree with the pair of you," McGonagall said, glancing at them, and then back to Padfoot and Snape, "I find myself sharing the sentiment this once, because we are alarmingly short on time." She made an ushering motion at the twins, who took the hint and made themselves scarce, likely in the direction of the grounds.

"If you'd asked us earlier, we wouldn't be," Padfoot said, pushing his hair back out of his face.

"If that suit of armour hadn't been enchanted with profanity, we wouldn't be either," McGonagall replied, and Padfoot grinned.

"Blame Remus and James."

Snape rolled his eyes, but it was almost good-humoured; whatever he and Draco had discussed the week before seemed to have patched up whatever misunderstanding had come between them, and put Snape in far better spirits than he had been all term, and… well, possibly ever.

McGonagall waved her wand; Padfoot's hair tidied itself up, the creases vanished from his robes, and his boots gleamed with polish.

"There. Now, off with you," she said, waving Padfoot away in the direction of Harry and his friends; Snape, at the first sign of appearance-tidying charms, had beat a hasty retreat down the corridor. "Miss Vane!" McGonagall swept off in the other direction as Padfoot reached them.

"Ready?" he asked, looking decidedly less amused than he had moments before, and more grim. Harry nodded once, stiffly, and looks passed between his friends - Hermione worried, Ron resolute, Draco impassive but with his mouth in a thin line, Ginny flinty, and Colin-

"Yes," Colin said, patting the camera strap around his neck. "This is going to be great! Have you ever seen a Triwizard Tournament, Professor?"

"How old do you think I am, Colin?" Padfoot asked, part amused, part incredulous.

The seven of them joined the steady stream of students and teachers making their way down to the Hogwarts grounds.

McGonagall joined the Gryffindors not long after, ushering them into lines based on year. Padfoot stayed for as long as he could - which was until McGonagall told him he was getting in the way and sent him to stand with the other teachers, and with Bagman, Sprottle, and a handful of other members of the Ministry.

And then, they waited, looking out into the cool, quiet night. Hermione shivered beside Harry and pressed a little closer; her scent not cold, but anxious… haunted. At first, Harry thought she might be anxious because of Karkaroff, the way Harry was. When she started rubbing her wrists however, in the vague way of someone not completely conscious of what they're doing, Harry realised she was thinking back to the last time she'd been out on the grounds at night. Harry reached down to squeeze her hand, and she twitched.

"There," Draco said, out of nowhere, lifting his chin toward the sky. Something large was moving quickly toward the school.

"What is it?" Ron muttered, squinting up at it. "Hermione?" She just shook her head, the anxiety in her scent replaced by curiosity and a bit of excitement.

"Aha!" Dumbledore called out, several seconds later. "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!" Something in Harry's chest eased - not Karkaroff then; Moony.

It took the rest of the school a few moments to spot what Draco and Dumbledore already had, but then a first year girl shrieked something about a dragon, and someone else cried out about a flying house, and then it didn't matter, because the object - which turned out to be an enormous, powder-blue carriage pulled by equally enormous horses - was hurtling out of the sky and down onto the grass, sending all of the first years and a good number of the second years leaping back out of the way. Romilda Vane wound up next to Harry - a rather impressive feat, since she'd had to get past the entire Gryffindor third year cohort to do so - catching his arm as she stumbled, only to have to release him to get out of the way of Neville, who'd leaped back in shock when the carriage landed noisily. Draco sniggered and Romilda shot him a dirty look before melting away.

Harry knew Madam Maxime was large because he'd seen her at Moony and Dora's wedding, but he'd forgotten just _how_ large.

"Blimey," Seamus said. "Now _that's_ a woman." Lavender elbowed him, or rather, attempted to; she was too busy staring to actually hit her target. Murmurs of surprise raced through the Hogwarts crowd, and Harry caught Hagrid's name a few times. He couldn't blame them, not when he himself had wondered whether they were married when he saw them sitting together at Moony and Dora's wedding. They were of a size, after all, though she stepped out of the carriage and made her way down a set of golden stairs with a grace Hagrid - much as Harry loved him - would never be able to manage.

She lifted a large hand and waved elegantly, the opals on her rings sparkling in the light from the castle, just as Dumbledore began to clap. She smiled first at Dumbledore, and then at Hagrid, and strode toward them, but Harry's attention was drawn back to the carriage and the familiar figure that had emerged at the top of the golden stairs.

Whispers of 'Professor Lupin!' raced through the older students, while the first, second, and third years all muttered confusedly to each other, or tried to get the attention of the older students to ask who he was.

"Welcome back, Moony!" came twin shouts from further back in the Gryffindor section, and Harry grinned at the warning glance McGonagall sent in Gryffindor's direction.

Moony led the Beauxbatons students - only a dozen or so of them, and all of them looking old enough to be sixth or seventh years - down the stairs to join Madame Maxime.

Aside from Moony, they were all wearing a mismatched collection of scarves and shawls, and shivering; both the girls and boys' uniforms seemed to be made predominantly of grey-blue silk, and it was clear they weren't doing an awfully good job at keeping their wearers warm.

"Professor Dumbledore," Moony said, shaking Dumbledore's hand. He hugged Hagrid, and smiled and nodded familiarly at the other teachers, all except Padfoot. "You must be the new Defence Professor." Muffled laughter broke out here and there amongst the Hogwarts crowd.

"Auror Sirius Black," Padfoot said, moving forward to shake his hand.

"Monsieur Remus Lupin," Moony said, taking it, and inciting more laughter from the Hogwarts crowd, and confusion from the Beauxbatons lot. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," Padfoot said, as if they were perfect strangers, and Dora and Stella wouldn't be waiting for Moony up in Padfoot's quarters after the feast. They stared at each other, then both snorted and hugged. Madam Maxime looked down at them, her expression fond in an exasperated sort of way, and Harry decided then and there that he liked her.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked, her rich voice carrying far further than Moony and Padfoot's had.

"I'm expecting him at any moment," Dumbledore said, and Harry's stomach twisted oddly. "Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and get warm?" Madame Maxime glanced at her shivering students and said something in a quieter voice to Moony in French. He responded in kind, then said something to the students, and moved toward the castle.

"I will stay," she said. "And Monsieur Barre and Mademoiselle Garcon-" Only two of the Beauxbatons students stayed behind - not looking overly pleased about it - while the others followed Moony. "-will stay with me, to 'elp tend ze 'orses."

"I'd be more than happy ter tend 'em, Olympe," Hagrid said, almost eagerly.

"Professor Hagrid is certainly capable," Dumbledore agreed. "And I daresay your helpers would prefer to get warm with their peers."

"Very well." Madame Maxime dismissed them with a wave of her hand and a few words in French, then smiled Hagrid, who beamed back at her.

A strange noise caught Harry's attention, then, a slurping, bubbling sort of sound, and he turned toward the lake, anxious again.

"Can you hear-" Ron asked a few seconds later, then caught himself, glanced at Harry and huffed a laugh. "'Course _you_ can. You two?" Hermione and Draco both wore expressions that suggested they were listening, but not sure what for yet.

"It's the lake," Harry said, just as Lee Jordan let out a shout and the lake began to stir. Bubbles rose out of it, as if it had been brought to boil, and waves lapped at the pebbled shore before the lake's entire middle seemed to drop out, and a tall, thin pole covered in ropes began to rise. "A ship," Harry said.

Like the Beauxbatons carriage, the ship that emerged was large, but seemed eerie instead of grand… or perhaps that was just because Harry knew who was on board.

Anticipation rose in him, strong and… eager?

Yes, eager, so eager, and the night wasn't dark any longer, it was lit with warm orange flames, their reflections dancing on the polished wood of the floor, and on Nagini's smooth scales.

"They are arriving," Harry said, running his fingers over Nagini. Her tongue flicked out to taste the air. "The Tournament begins tonight."

" _We will have him sssoon then, Massster?_ " Nagini said, butting her scaly head against Harry's chin, like a cat.

"Soon," Harry agreed. "Crouch will release one of the competitor's dragons during the first task, and we will snatch the boy from the crowd during the confusion. It will be over before anyone realises it."

" _When isss thisss tasssk_?"

"Late November," Harry replied, with satisfaction. "Less than a month away."

Nagini wrapped herself around his shoulders, giving him an excited sort of squeeze, and then she was under his arm too, almost as if she was holding him up, which was strange because he had his chair… only he could no longer feel his chair beneath him, and Nagini was gripping him harder, and hissing his name…

" _Harry_!"

It was dark again, and Harry was draped over Ron, only upright because Ron was holding him there. He started to speak - either to apologise or ask what had happened - but there was a hand clamped over his mouth. Hermione's hand. She was standing in front of him, pale and wide-eyed. Draco was nearby too, but with his back to them.

"He's coming back," Ron said, close to Harry's ear, but not, Harry didn't think _to_ him. "Can you stand, mate?"

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, and when Harry looked at her, she slowly lowered her hand. "Sorry. You were…" She and Ron exchanged glances.

"I was what?" Harry disentangled himself from Ron with an apologetic grimace. Ron just patted him on the shoulder.

"Hissing," Draco said, turning back around.

"I was-" Harry rubbed his tingling scar, and straightened. "Padfoot. I need Padfoot."

"Yes, he's on his way," Draco said, and Harry saw that Padfoot was indeed coming toward them, parting students as surreptitiously as he could. It was not a difficult task; most people were watching the Durmstrang students cross the grass in the wake of a thin man with a goatee, or the ship, now moored at the edge of the lake. Some, though, were watching Harry, or Padfoot, or both. Whispers were racing around them - something about crumbs - which made no sense, so Harry forced himself to ignore them.

"Merlin," Padfoot said, when he reached them. His voice was low so it wouldn't carry, and his scent was a mixture of worry, fear, and unease. "What happened to you? Are you-"

"I'm fine. I saw- He said they're going to... to free a dragon-" The words tasted strange in Harry's mouth, wrong, somehow, even as he said them. "-during the first task, and try to… to grab me from the crowd in all the confusion."

"Dragon?" Ron asked, eyebrows shooting up.

"The Tournament's known for its use of dangerous creatures," Hermione said anxiously. "In 1792, they used a cockatrice, and it got free and injured three of the judges-"

" _Really_ , Hermione?" Harry asked, smiling despite himself. Ron snorted fondly.

"First task… as in during the Tournament?" Padfoot asked, eyes fixed on the goateed man with Durmstrang.

"Late November," Harry said, nodding.

"Did they mention Karkaroff?" Draco's eyes were also on the goateed man- on Karkaroff, Harry realised.

"No," Harry said. "Or- not by name. I- _he_ said 'we' though, so-"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore," Padfoot said. "At dinner- _before_ dinner, if I can manage it." He grasped Harry's shoulder. "And Robards and Scrimgeour." He released Harry and made to move back to the teachers, but Harry caught his arm.

"Something's wrong," Harry said, meeting his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I- I don't know," Harry said.

"Okay," Padfoot said, looking baffled. "Okay, well, when you work it out, let me know, all right? Mirror?"

"Ye-" Harry patted his pocket and paused. "No." He hadn't been carrying it with him as much, lately; with Padfoot at Hogwarts, it was just as quick to see him in person.

"Come and find me, then, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Padfoot squeezed his arm and slipped away, just as Karkaroff called out to Dumbledore:

"Dumbledore!" His voice was oily and made Harry's skin crawl. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

He and Dumbledore shook hands - Karkaroff using both of his to enfold Dumbledore's - and then Karkaroff pressed a kiss to Madame Maxime's hand. Padfoot settled back into his place between Snape and McGonagall, and Harry saw them murmur to each other. Both Snape and McGonagall looked in his direction, and then away again.

Karkaroff bared yellow teeth as he smiled up at Hogwarts.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said. "How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along into the warmth, won't you?" He reached for the shoulder of a boy with a familiar surly face, and Ron squawked in surprise just as Harry finally made sense of all the whispers.

"Krum!" Ron said, shaking Harry's arm, as if to make sure he'd seen him. "Harry, _look!_ "

"Who?" Harry asked, with a smirk. Ron grumbled and shoved him, mouth twitching.

"The Quidditch player?" Draco asked, looking curious.

"He's the one who broke his nose at the World Cup, isn't he…?" Hermione asked, seeming equally curious.

"Yes! He's only the best-" Ron began, but McGonagall was amongst them again, with instructions to head back inside for dinner:

"... in an _orderly_ fashion, Mr McLaggen! Potter?" Harry glanced at her. "Are you well?"

"Fine," he said. "Ask Padfoot for details at dinner, if you want them."

"I don't want details," she said crisply, and Harry didn't think that was true, "I want to know if you need anything. Poppy-"

"I'm fine," Harry said, forcing a smile, and though she didn't seem to believe him, her attention was drawn away from him and he took the chance to slip into the crowd and rejoin his very slowly moving friends, eyes seeking the back of Karkaroff's head-

"Potter! Hey, Potter!" Hydrus pushed his way to Harry's side, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, expression gleeful. Ron stood immediately taller, Hermione folded her arms across her chest, and Draco moved to stand at Harry's shoulder. "Did you see Krum- wait, I know you did." He pressed a hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon, then pressed his hands to his chest and batted his eyelashes. Either the Hogwarts rumour mill had outdone itself with the speed at which it spread news, or Hydrus had happened to look over at Harry at the worst possible moment.

"Are you done?" Harry asked, trying to leave him behind in the crowd. "Because I'm not really in the mood." Voldemort's plan was a much more pressing concern, and Hydrus' attempts to pick a fight were almost laughably unimportant in comparison. Hydrus looked irritated.

"I don't think you're Krum's type," he said, "but it might be funny to watch you try… if you can get close enough." He pretended to swoon again, and Crabbe and Goyle both rumbled with laughter.

"Actually," Hermione said, in the tone she'd used shortly before punching Hydrus that time (and making Harry hope for a repeat), "it wasn't to do with Krum at all. He was remembering how stupid you looked pretending to be a ferret in Defence last week, and laughed so hard he nearly fell over." With that, Hermione wrapped a hand around Harry's arm and tugged him past a pink-faced Hydrus and into the Entrance Hall.

* * *

Hogwarts was cold, and old, and, while it wasn't ugly, exactly, it was certainly not as nice as Beauxbatons.

Fleur liked the enchanted ceiling, but the floating candles were messy, and the golden plates and matching goblets seemed over the top compared to the nice crystal ones at Beauxbatons.

With the way Monsieur Lupin had waxed rhapsodic about Hogwarts and its grounds every time she ever asked him what it was like, Fleur had been expecting… well, more.

But, a warming charm dealt with the worst of the cold, and looks were not everything - she knew that better than anyone - and so she would give the castle a chance before making up her mind about it. This was the place, after all, that had accepted Monsieur Lupin despite what he was, and that he looked back on fondly, so perhaps it would be a good place for her too.

"I imagine they'll want to encourage interaction between the schools," Monsieur Lupin said, looking around the empty hall, "so feel free to sit at any of the tables- except for that one." He gestured to the long table at the end of the hall. "That one's for staff."

Fleur eyed her table options and the long banners above them - the green snake, the yellow badger, the blue eagle, and the red lion. The blue and green seemed the nicest, and both the yellow and red were gaudy to Fleur, but she knew the red; she'd seen it in a photograph, on the robes of a much younger Monsieur Lupin.

She was the first to move away from the Beauxbatons group, heading for the red table. She took a seat about halfway between one end and the middle, where she would hopefully not be disturbing the table's usual occupants too much, but not at the very end, where she'd be alienating herself.

Renee, Elodie, and Adele came to join her, and Fleur was surprised but pleased; none of them had been close back at Beauxbatons - or even interacted much at all, honestly - but they had become tentative allies on the journey here, the ones that didn't quite fit with the rest of the group. The leftovers.

The rest of the Beauxbatons girls and all five boys settled themselves at the blue table.

"This could be a long year," Renee said, unwrapping her scarf.

"Didier said this isn't even the worst it gets." Elodie rubbed her fingers together, then blew on them. "I wish Hogwarts and Durmstrang would hurry up so we can have dinner." Adele - also blowing on her hands - nodded her agreement.

A tall, goateed man led what was unmistakably the Durmstrang contingent into the hall - there were almost twice as many of them as there were Beauxbatons students - and behind them came a steady trickle of chattering Hogwarts students.

The whole of Durmstrang seated themselves at the green table at their headmaster's direction, peeling off their heavy furs as they did so. The Hogwarts students sat under whichever banner matched the badge on their robes.

"Bonjour," a grinning red-headed boy said, in such terribly accented French that Renee and Adele giggled. He seemed to have eyes only for Fleur, and she looked down, imagining herself pulling any influence her veela side might be causing back under her skin, then imagining her skin thickening to trap it there.

"For Merlin's sake, Fred." A tall girl with dark skin and braided hair appeared at his shoulder. "Sorry about him. Do you mind if we sit?"

The other three exchanged looks, then shook their heads. The girl with braids smiled and lowered herself onto the bench beside Fleur. The boy - Fred - sat next to her, and several others slid into place on the opposite side; a boy who was identical to Fred down to the mischievous grin, a boy with dreadlocks, and two other girls - one dark haired and younger than the rest of them, and the other about the same age as the girl with braids.

"I'm Angelina," the girl with braids said, offering her hand to Fleur and then the other three in turn. Her grip was firm, and Fleur eyed her, wondering if she was planning to enter the Tournament. "Fred - in case you missed that before - George, Katie, Lee, and Alicia."

"Fleur Delacour," Fleur said, and to her relief, the three boys only nodded, then turned expectantly to the others.

"Renee Colbert."

"Adele Thibault."

"Elodie Garcon."

Another, red haired boy - taller than the twins, and yet clearly a younger brother - grabbed Fred's shoulders from behind, not sparing the rest of them more than a cursory look.

"Did you see him?!" he asked.

"See who, Ronnikins?" George asked.

"Krum!" the boy - Ronnikins - said eagerly.

"Who?" Fred and George said, in perfect unison, eyes twinkling. Ronnikins rolled his eyes.

"Harry already made that joke-"

"Wait- Krum?!" Adele said, leaning forward. "Bulgaria's Krum?!"

"He's with Durmstrang," Ronnikins said, apparently pleased someone was as interested as he was.

"You're a Quidditch fan?" Angelina asked, giving Adele an approving look.

"Fan and Keeper," Adele said proudly.

"Chaser," Angelina replied, and the two grinned at each other. "Katie and Alicia too."

"Beaters," Fred and George said together.

"Commentator," Lee said.

"Spectator," Fred said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Ronnikins, who scowled and left. George watched him go, then turned to Fred, whose head snapped up to meet the look. George tilted his head and Fred glanced down toward the very end of the table, where Ronnikins had sat with children his own age; there was a girl with disastrously bushy hair, a boy who was pale and blond enough to be mistaken for a distant, fully human relative of Fleur's, _another_ red head - this one a girl - and, lastly, a boy with untidy black hair, and glasses.

Fleur startled, because she _knew_ him, had seen his smiling face more times than she could count in the photograph on Monsieur Lupin's desk. In it, he was standing beside the handsome older man Fleur had seen at Beauxbatons once, briefly, and who Monsieur Lupin had hugged when they arrived - Auror Black, he'd introduced himself as.

The boy wasn't smiling now, though. None of them were, and they were all bent forward over the table, having - by all appearances - a very serious conversation. Perhaps Viktor Krum was a bigger deal than Fleur had realised.

"Fleur!" Renee hissed, and Fleur got hastily to her feet as Madame Maxime entered the hall alongside a severe looking witch in emerald robes. Headmaster Dumbledore followed a few steps behind with Auror Black, their heads bent close together. Madame Maxime took her seat - and so did Fleur and the other Beauxbatons students - between Headmaster Dumbledore and Monsieur Lupin. Auror Black sat beside him, and a distinctly less handsome but equally dark haired man sat on his other side. Headmaster Karkaroff was on Headmaster Dumbledore's other side, and an older woman with short, salt and pepper hair, and horn-rimmed glasses sat beside him. On her other side was a young, thin, bespectacled man, and on his other side was a blond, round-faced man with a crooked nose.

"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, ghosts, and - most particularly - guests." Headmaster Dumbledore beamed around the hall. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust your stay with us will be both comfortable, and enjoyable."

"We'll see," Elodie muttered in French. Renee covered her mouth to hide a laugh, and the Hogwarts students nearest to them looked on curiously.

"The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. In the meantime, I invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home." He sat, still beaming, and was immediately dragged into a conversation with Headmaster Karkaroff.

Fleur and the other girls startled as the plates in front of them suddenly filled with food, but Angelina, Fred, George, and their friends just let out happy exclamations and dived forward.

At Beauxbatons, they picked off a menu at mealtimes. Here, it was clearly a free-for-all sort of arrangement, and - as Fleur watched Fred and George tug at a casserole dish from opposite directions - a messy one at that. Adele and Elodie took it in stride, the former even throwing a good natured elbow in Alicia's direction to get better access to a large bowl of soupe a l'oignon. Fleur waited until everyone had calmed down to put a few things on her plate, and was rather disappointed by the lack of seafood in their immediate vicinity.

"So Adele's a Quidditch player," Katie said, "what about the rest of you?"

"No Quidditch, but I'm on the equestrian team," Elodie said.

"So horses… like those massive ones that pulled the carriage?" Lee asked, with his mouth half-full.

"Yes, and smaller ones too," Elodie said.

"Wicked," Lee said, swallowing, and turning to Fleur and Renee. "You two?"

"I'm not good at anything involving brooms or horses," Renee said.

"She's a genius, though," Elodie said. "Top in everything."

"Oh, an academic," Lee said teasingly.

"Sounds like someone we know," Fred said, his eyes on the boy in Monsieur Lupin's photograph, Ronnikins, and their other friends. They all still looked far too serious, the boy rubbing his forehead and only picking at his dinner, the red haired girl frowning, and Ronnikins and the other two looking equal parts confused and worried. Such strange children. And, stranger still, there was a two seat gap between them and the next cluster of students, despite how crowded the table was; either they were extremely disliked and no one wanted to be near them, or the other students were giving them space… Perhaps… perhaps Monsieur Lupin's boy was like her - certainly not a veela - but but maybe not entirely human either… Perhaps Monsieur Lupin watched out for him the way he did Fleur.

"Bouillabaisse!" Adele said suddenly, pointing. Fleur moved her eyes from the group of children and onto the bowl in front of them, and _wanted_.

"Pardon?" Alicia said, blinking.

"Are we allowed to take food from other places?" Elodie asked Alicia, also pointing.

"Sure," George said. "You might have to fight Ron for it, though."

"That won't be necessary," Fleur said, eyeing Ronnikins as she stood. She wanted a taste of home on her first night in this foreign place, _and_ she was also curious. She strode with purpose toward the little group, releasing her tight hold on her veela side, letting it slip out and settle on her skin. She didn't feel any different, but she saw the heads start to turn, and knew it was having an effect. Not much - she didn't want to humiliate Ronnikins as she had Levesque - but enough that Ronnikins would happily pass the bouillabaisse over when she asked for it.

She saw his face change and his eyes glaze over a bit as she approached. The blond boy turned to look up at her, expression polite but guarded, and certainly not affected - she decided she liked him - and the black-haired boy - Monsieur Lupin's boy - looked up, blinking like an owl. The girls glanced at the boys, then at Fleur, then at each other, apparently exasperated. Fleur knew the look well, but there was no anger in it; likely, they didn't yet realise she'd not only caused the reaction, but forced it.

"Can I have the bouillabaisse?" she asked. Ronnikins just stared at her. The bushy haired girl pursed her lips.

"All yours," the blond boy said, in accented but passable French, and pushed it toward her. She smiled at him, switching her focus from Ronnikins to him, testing, but he didn't seem to notice. The black haired boy stiffened, looking between Ronnikins and the blond, then at Fleur, like he knew, somehow, that she'd done it deliberately. The look in his eyes was considerably less dazed now, and far more wary. Guiltily, Fleur tucked her veela side away again, and his expression relaxed a little.

"I have seen your picture," she told him, as a sort of truce. He blinked like she'd surprised him, then sighed.

"Great," he said, without enthusiasm. The others exchanged looks. She'd done something wrong, she realised, but didn't know what.

"In Monsieur Lupin's office," she added, and he blinked again, then smiled. Fleur relaxed. "He is my favourite teacher." The smile grew. "What is your name?"

"Harry," he said.

"Harry," she repeated. "I am Fleur." She offered him her hand and he took it. She looked expectantly around at the others.

"Draco Malfoy." A French name, but an unhappy translation. He smiled slightly when her eyebrows lifted.

"Hermione," the bushy haired girl said, seemingly having warmed to Fleur when Harry did.

"Ginny." The other girl held out a small, freckled hand. Ronnikins did not introduce himself, or offer his hand; he was still staring at her.

"And Ronnikins?" Fleur asked tentatively, holding out her hand to him. Harry and Ginny burst out laughing, Draco smirked, and Hermione made a cross noise and turned to scowl at Fred and George.

"Sure," Ronnikins said, reaching out to take her hand.

"His name is Ron," Hermione said irritably, twisting a little in her seat. Ron's face twitched with pain and he suddenly sat straighter. He looked up at Fleur, then quickly away, his expression a strange mix of awe, embarrassment, and irritation; usually, she only saw one at a time, and very rarely did she see the last on boys.

She felt guilty again - she'd _made_ him feel that way - and could all too easily imagine the disappointed look Monsieur Lupin would give her if he knew.

"Sorry," she said, surprising herself, then scooped up the bouillabaisse. "Thank you for this." And then she retreated back to her part of the table.

Once she'd served herself, she glanced up and was torn between being surprised, relieved, and offended that none of the children were watching her or even occasionally glancing in her direction - not even Harry or Ron; if their serious faces were anything to go by, they'd gone back to whatever conversation they'd been having before she interrupted them.

Offence won out; she'd gone out of her way - despite the fact that they were children - to introduce herself and meet them - especially Harry - and they'd quite clearly forgotten all about her already. Fleur was one to make lasting impressions - sometimes positive, sometimes negative, but always lasting - even if she didn't always mean to. That she hadn't was a new experience for her, and she found she didn't like it.

She'd _wanted_ to make a good impression so she might be able to go back and talk to them another time, and understand what made Harry so special to Monsieur Lupin that he would keep a photograph of him on his desk.

Except, Harry was clearly _not_ special; she had offered him her name and her company - however briefly - and he had not realised what a rarity that was, what a privilege it was. She glanced down at them again - none of them noticed - and scowled, returning to her dinner, because she oughtn't care _what_ children thought of her.

Later, when Headmaster Dumbledore introduced Monsieur Bagman, and Madame Sprottle and her assistant Monsieur Pemberley, and explained the Goblet of Fire and the Age Line that would go around it, Fleur _wanted_ again; she'd wanted to enter since the Tournament was first announced, wanted strongly enough that she had left her home and her family to come to this cold, old, ugly castle. She wanted the chance to show off what she could do, to represent her school and Madame Maxime and Monsieur Lupin, wanted to show everyone that she was more than just a pretty face, that she was formidable and capable, and - she couldn't help but glance at Harry and his friends - not someone that was ever forgotten or ignored, because she'd be a Champion.

She'd be _the_ Champion.


	17. The Headmasters

Draco took advantage of the congestion that had formed around Krum to slip away from his friends and get beside Karkaroff.

The man glanced his way once fleetingly, then away, and then quickly back, paling like he's seen a ghost.

"Headmaster Karkaroff," Draco said, with pureblood polish, and dipped his head in a slight gesture of deference.

"Mr Malfoy?" Karkaroff nodded slightly when Draco inclined his head, but his eyes flicked to the Gryffindor crest on Draco's robes. "You have the look of your father." Draco kept his expression polite and mouth closed. "Did you want something?"

"Just to meet you," Draco said. He smiled, but only with his mouth. "Your reputation precedes you, and I was curious."

"My reputation?" Karkaroff paled but did his best to keep his expression calm. "All good, I hope." Karkaroff's chuckle had a nervous edge to it and his eyes scanned the bustling students around them and then the cluster Krum was surely at the centre of, as if he was hoping to find an excuse to escape.

But his attention was clearly not entirely on his surroundings, because Draco felt the lightest brush of a Legillimency probe against his mind. It was not an attempt to reach deep - it was the equivalent of dipping a finger or toe into a bath or pond to check the temperature - but it was subtle, subtler than Severus had ever been. Draco made no attempt to stop him, but kept all his thoughts and feelings - except for a polite curiosity, and sense of entitlement (fabricated quickly on the spot, with his trips into Hydrus' head over the holidays as his inspiration) - below the surface.

"Of course," Draco said, watching with interest when Karkaroff's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Father wanted to send me to Durmstrang."

"Well, it's a shame he didn't," Karkaroff said, recovering; his voice was oily again, the way it had been when he'd greeted Dumbledore on the grounds. The faint feel of him in Draco's mind vanished. "We'd have been very happy to have you-"

"It's your loss, I assure you." Severus melted out of the crowd, and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco glanced up, and the very corners of Severus' mouth turned down. Draco suppressed a wince.

"S-Severus," Karkaroff said, and if he'd been nervous around Draco, then he was positively terrified of Severus. Draco's eyes flicked between them.

"Karkaroff," Severus said in a dangerously silky tone. "Long time, no see."

"I- yes, a long time. My students keep me very busy." Karkaroff's eyes darted around again, but the three of them were alone by the doors, now. "You're looking well, Severus, clearly Hogwarts suits you-"

"More than Azkaban, certainly." Severus arched an eyebrow - a challenge. Karkaroff thought so too, because he seemed to shrink. "Or do you still believe otherwise?"

"No, no- I- You know I had no choice…"

"There is always a choice, Karkaroff."

"You've been spending too much time with Dumbledore, Severus - you're starting to sound like him." Severus said nothing, and the forced mirth on Karkaroff's face faded. "We should speak, Severus, discuss… everything, apologise…"

"I wasn't aware I owed you an apology."

It was a good thing Draco had spent so much time with Severus as a child, because it took every bit of the control he'd learned to keep himself from laughing at the look on Karkaroff's face; it was equal parts sour and pleading, and made even funnier in contrast to the supremely unimpressed look on Severus'.

"Come, Severus, let's not do this here in front of the boy…" Karkaroff glanced briefly at Draco. "I'll come and find you, and we'll talk, about this, and… other matters. Yes?" Draco expected Severus to reply with something scathing, or demand a more immediate conversation, but he simply took a step back and inclined his head, removing his hand from Draco's shoulder as he went. "A pleasure, Mr Malfoy," Karkaroff said, and then strode out, his steps just quick enough to give him away as less composed than he was trying to appear.

Draco felt rather than saw - because his eyes were still on Karkaroff - Severus turn to stare at him:

"Explain yourself," he said, but not angrily.

"Karkaroff's a Legillimens," Draco said, keeping his voice down, despite them being alone. Severus grunted.

"A poor excuse for one. Did you reveal yourself?"

"I don't think so," Draco said. Severus' expression didn't change much, but Draco sensed his approval all the same.

"Karkaroff is an incredibly subtle practitioner, I'll grant him, but not able to penetrate beyond the mind's surface, and he has no Occlumency ability whatsoever. Do not let him concern you."

"He doesn't," Draco said, honestly. "Potter thinks he's involved in the Dark Lord's plans somehow-"

"Ah, yes," Severus said, "the dragon plot."

"-but having just met him... I don't think he is."

"Why?" Severus studied him.

"Because he's afraid," Draco said.

"Pettigrew is proof that cowards can flourish in the Dark Lord's employ," Severus said, but he arched an eyebrow in the same challenging manner as he had with Karkaroff earlier, and Draco thought he was being contrary for the sake of it.

"If Karkaroff was in the Dark Lord's employ, he wouldn't be terrified of you," Draco said. "He wouldn't care what you thought because he'd have his Lord behind him. Instead, he's trying to- to do whatever he was trying to do."

"Igor Karkaroff was captured at the end of the war, and made a deal with the Ministry; they spared him from Azkaban, and in return, he gave them information, names. Mine was among them." Severus quirked the corners of his mouth up when Draco stared at him, surprised. "Karkaroff has filled more prison cells than some Aurors. He's not popular amongst the Death Eaters - that's why he fled Britain and has spent the last thirteen years hiding at Durmstrang."

"Right," Draco said, and then was silent, letting the information sink in, and trying to adjust to this new, incredibly forthcoming version of his godfather.

"The Headmaster asked me to speak with him tonight," Severus said, after a moment, "and see if I could find out how he might be involved in the Dark Lord's plans against Potter." His eyes lingered on the empty Entrance Hall. "I agree with your conclusion, that Karkaroff is not working with the Dark Lord at present. I had reached the same one." Draco felt a little stir of pride, but it faded as soon as Severus' mouth turned down. "Unfortunately, that means there is someone else with access to the castle that is filling the role we had all assumed would be Karkaroff's."

"What do you think of the Dark Lord's plan?" Draco asked.

"It's troubling," Severus said, after a moment. "It seems to me like a plan with too many variables - there is no way to guarantee where Potter will sit, and who might sit with him, no way to control the dragon once it's loose, no way to ensure it will remain loose for long enough for them to accomplish whatever they need to… There is more to it than what Potter saw. The Headmaster agrees. Black, too."

"And Potter," Draco said. "He was saying all through dinner that he doesn't think it's right. He said there's too much potential for things to go wrong for the Dark Lord to want to go ahead with it, and She-Weasley thought the same."

"Between them, they'd know." Severus was silent for a moment, then straightened. "I must report to the Headmaster, and you to Potter."

"Good night, sir," Draco said.

The castle's corridors and staircases were almost eerily quiet, but the noise in the common room more than made up for it, and Draco suspected it would be the same in the other Houses too; several of the couches had been pulled together and the fourth years (at least, the ones that weren't himself, Potter, Granger, or Weasley) were sitting with the fifth and sixth years, bemoaning the Age Line, and chattering excitedly about the other schools. The seventh years sat by the fire, discussing potential tasks, potential Champions, and whether or not they were going to enter, while a group of excited first and second years (and Creevey) listened in. Weasley One and Two and Jordan were poring over textbooks, looking for a potion or charm that might get them past the Age Line:

"... promising, mark that one. I wish we had more than a day; Bill would know a way through with some spell, or rune, or-"

"That's probably why Dumbledore's given such a short amount of time," Jordan pointed out, and both twins booed him.

Draco's lot, though, were nowhere in sight.

He found them in the boys' dormitory; Potter was lying on his back on his bed, scowling up at the red curtains of his four poster, while Granger perched on the end, clearly deep in thought. Weasley was sitting up against his pillows, clearly listening to Potter, but with his eyes on a quill on the mattress, and She-Weasley was lying on her stomach on Draco's bed.

"Where did you disappear to?" Granger asked, frowning.

"I wanted to speak to Severus," Draco said. He shut the door, waved at She-Weasley to get her to shuffle over, then went and settled against his headboard. Potter dragged himself up into a sitting position, hair sticking up in every possible direction.

"What did Snape have to say?" he asked.

"He doesn't think Karkaroff's involved," Draco said.

"What?" Potter's eyes widened. "But he is- he has to be-"

"He's not," Draco said, and gave Weasley a _look._ Weasley, thankfully, caught on at once. Really, letting him in on the truth was one of the best decisions Draco had ever made.

"He doesn't _have_ to be," Weasley said. "You only heard his name in that dream, right? And we all just assumed- I mean, rightly so,, because he sounded like a right piece of work, but maybe… he's not."

"Maybe," Potter said, looking unconvinced. "Snape have anything else to say?"

"He thinks there's something odd about this... dragon plan," Draco said.

"That's because there _is_." Potter slumped back into his pillows with a groan, and Granger patted his leg consolingly. "He just- it's messy, it's too messy. Right?" He looked to She-Weasley who nodded.

"Severus said the same - too many variables. There's no way to guarantee where you'll be at the time, or who you'd be with, or what the dragon-"

"What if there was, though?" She-Weasley asked suddenly, sitting up. "What if they could guarantee exactly where he was?"

"How?" Draco asked.

"Maybe there'll be assigned seating, or a Top Box like at the World Cup-"

"Maybe," Weasley said, frowning. "Or maybe they'd make you-" He looked at Potter. "-part of the task? If V-Voldemort knows there's a dragon, he must know how the rest of it's going to run. That means he's probably going to have someone on the inside, so maybe the Champions will have to rescue someone, and they'll make sure that someone'll be Harry."

"I can think of a much simpler way to make you part of it," Granger said. "Make him a Champion." Silence met her comment. "Wait- No. I forgot about the Age Line-"

"Age Lines only stop people that aren't the right age from passing over them," Potter said. "Dumbledore used one last year, to stop Wormtail from using any secret passages into the school, and that's what he said about them. There's nothing to stop someone that _is_ the right age from putting my name in." He did not seem at all pleased by the idea.

"But the Goblet- wouldn't it discount you?"

"Probably not," Weasley said, "or there's no point in the Age Line, is there?"

"Well," Draco said after a moment. "That narrows down who his accomplice might be, at least. Someone of age."

"That was a given- it couldn't have been someone underage," Granger said.

"Why not?" She-Weasley asked dully. "It has been before."

"Twice," Potter said.

"Yes." Granger huffed. "But if Voldemort's got information about the Tournament, it's got to be someone who's helping organise or judge, or maybe an Auror - someone at the Ministry, or involved with the dragons. It's not going to be a student."

"So someone puts Potter's name in," Draco said. "Who's to say he gets picked?"

"He's Harry," Weasley said, and Potter flung a pillow at him. "Ow! And-" Weasley tossed the pillow back. "-if that's not enough, just Imperius the Goblet."

Another silence followed this statement, broken when Potter sighed loudly and rolled onto his side, reaching for his mirror.

* * *

"Does it have to be up to the Goblet to decide?" Harry asked. "Can't the Headmasters just nominate their Champions?"

Marlene had been with them earlier, for just long enough to grimly inform them that yes, there would be dragons (though she refused to say how many, what type, or how they'd be used) in the first task, and then had headed downstairs to stand under the cloak, making a list of every person that approached the Goblet. In the meantime, Sirius, Dumbledore and Harry were trying to work out how to avoid the possibility of Harry becoming an unwilling Champion.

So far, they'd toyed with a few options, but none of them were much use:

They could try to very publicly pull him out of Hogwarts - faking an illness or an injury (or maybe even not faking, Harry had said, if that was what it took), except that would neither stop his name from being drawn, nor would it excuse him from the Tournament. Sirius suggested they change his name, but Dumbledore had shaken his head, and flipped through an ancient rulebook to show them a footnote about a C. Smith, who'd been entered by his mother (a rather notorious Headmistress) back in the 1800s. He'd emancipated himself, and changed his name to avoid being selected, but his name had come out and he'd still been bound to compete; the Goblet's magic picked a _person_ as much as it picked a name, apparently.

"So we find something to change Harry as a person," Sirius said, and Harry and Dumbledore stared at him. "Not much, just a bit. A tiny bit of blood magic, maybe, just enough to make him different…" He shook his head. "That's a terrible idea - ignore me." Harry looked relieved.

"All other issues aside, as the Goblet does not select based on blood, there's no guarantee it would even be a viable way out." Dumbledore said. "And even if it was, I would advise against it; changing Harry's blood would affect Lily's protection, both on Harry, and on his aunt and cousin."

"Why don't we just… I dunno temporarily expel me?" Harry said, without much hope. "I can't compete if I'm not a student, right? And you said you were willing to homeschool me." He was clearly not joking; apparently, Harry was willing to back away from danger, as long as he was the only one at risk.

"Would that work?" Sirius asked. Dumbledore was silent, flipping through the rulebook and then silent as he read.

"To be considered eligible…" Dumbledore ran a long finger down the page, reading, then tapped a line, his scent thoughtful. "... at the time of their selection by the Goblet of Fire, a witch or wizard must be a current student of the school listed on their submitted entry slip…"

"A current student," Sirius repeated. "So we _could_ expel him." He glanced at Harry, and didn't think he'd ever known a student to look so hopeful about expulsion. "Expel him for a few days, then say it was all a big misunderstanding and invite him back…" Dumbledore's beard twitched, and he pushed the book back, then steepled his long fingers. His scent started thoughtful but grew more tired the longer he sat there. Sirius glanced at Harry again, and knew Harry had smelled it too.

"No," Dumbledore said finally, and, while not surprised, Sirius still found himself disappointed. "No, I don't think we can- Or rather, not the way we need to."

"Meaning what?" Sirius asked, a bit confused by his odd clarification.

"We could expel him - sorry, dear boy, _you_ \- certainly. Expulsions are rare at Hogwarts, but if the situation merited it… and I daresay, between the three of us, we could come up with something that would… But expulsions must be approved by the Board of Governors, and it would have to be a dire situation indeed to get them all to convene at such short notice."

"I reckon you're underestimating how creative we could be," Sirius said. Harry cracked a smile for the first time that night, and it was utterly James.

"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore said, and there was a softness to his smile that made Sirius think he'd seen it too. "I fear we would need to be so convincing that there would be little hope of reversing the expulsion when it became convenient. I also very much doubt that Lucius Malfoy would allow you to be expelled, Harry, not if he thought it might interfere with Voldemort's plans."

"And my wand," Harry said, face falling. "They'd snap it, like they did Hagrid's, and if I was somehow forced to compete anyway..."

"Merlin," Sirius sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "So what, then? We just let them enter him? Let him be bound to compete?"

A despairing look flicked over Harry's face so briefly that Sirius might have thought he'd imagined it, except it was reflected in Harry's scent as well. Then, Harry's jaw set, and his eyes hardened. It was the expression he'd worn when he left to meet Wormtail at the end of last term. The sight of it made Sirius feel almost sick with helplessness.

"No, there is a chance, yet." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Damaris Sprottle is an incredibly reasonable witch." He indicated the bookmarks in the old rulebook. "She has already deemed it fit to change some of the more archaic rules. It might be possible to convince her to make our decision that Champions be of age an actual requirement, enforced by more than just my Age Line. We could create a rule to create a loophole…" He turned to Harry. "Would I be right in assuming Mister and Mister Weasley will be trying to find a way to get their names into the Goblet of Fire?"

"Er…" It was all over Harry's face that Dumbledore had assumed correctly, but he clearly didn't want to get say anything to incriminate the twins.

"Be at ease, Harry," Dumbledore said, helping himself to a sweet from the small bowl on his desk. "They will not be in trouble, I assure you. In fact, I think we ought to encourage it…"

* * *

"Again, you have my sincerest apologies-" Minerva was positively shaking with anger; her knuckles were white on the shoulders of the Weasley twins, her nostrils were flaring, and her lips were pressed together so tightly they had almost vanished entirely. It was not feigned; Albus had not explained anything to her in advance because Minerva was a rather poor actress, but George Weasley carried a note from Albus in his pocket that would explain things once they were back in Minerva's office, and before any punishment could be dealt. "-on behalf of these two, and their accomplice, who _will_ be found and disciplined appropriately. I assure you, their parents will be notified-"

"Mum knows," George said, right on cue.

"She even encouraged it, actually," Fred added, looking at Ludo. "Reckons we could use the money." And Merlin bless Molly for being willing to sacrifice her reputation and her pride - because money was a touchy matter for the Weasley family - to try to protect Harry. Minerva must have squeezed Fred's shoulder to quieten him, because he winced. Albus didn't think the pain on his face was feigned.

"Thank you, Minerva," Albus said, and she nodded curtly and hauled the twins away from the table. "I must apologise as well; it seems my Age Line was not the foolproof solution we had hoped."

"Eet is not fools zat are ze problem," Olympe said, eyes tracking Minerva, Fred, and George's exit from the Hall. Ludo looked extremely uncomfortable, which surprised Albus; he'd have expected Ludo to find this very amusing indeed. "But of course, zey cannot be allowed to compete. We agreed only students zat are of age-"

"If the Goblet chooses them, they will be bound to compete," Damaris said, looking troubled. "Regardless of age."

"If I'd known this sort of- of- If I'd known this would be tolerated, I'd have brought a wider selection of my own students," Igor said angrily. Lightning flashed across the Hall's ceiling, as if summoned by his mood.

"Rest assured, Igor," Albus said, "this will _not_ be tolerated. The question is, how do we resolve it?"

"We empty ze Goblet, of course," Olympe said, twisting one of her rings in her agitation. "Start afresh-"

"But who's to say we won't have the same problem, with some other loophole?" Igor said, folding his arms.

"It is troubling indeed." Albus stroked his beard, pretending to think. "Damaris, is there any way we can restrict entry beyond the Age Line?"

"Not easily." William Pemberley was the one that answered, looking nervously around, as if unsure if he was allowed to speak. When no one told him to be quiet, he continued with more confidence. "The Goblet of Fire wasn't designed with any sort of filters for age, and I don't think there's a witch or wizard alive that still understands the ancient magics used to create it well enough to include them now."

"Quite a pickle they've put us in." Ludo cast an uneasy glance toward the door.

"And if there is someone that could figure it out, I doubt they'd be able to do so before dinner." Damaris frowned.

"There must be something we can do," Albus pressed. "I am very much opposed to allowing any of my underage students into the Tournament, apparent resourcefulness aside."

"As Headmaster, you _can_ attempt to overrule the Goblet's decision," Damaris said, and Albus turned to stare at her, surprised. Olympe and Igor's expressions were equally so. Ludo's mouth had fallen open:

"B-but- that defeats the entire purpose of the Goblet!" he exclaimed.

"It's a very old rule, and barely heard of because it's almost impossible to do; it's only happened twice since the conception of the Tournament. And, as Mr Bagman has pointed out, it is considered to be very much against the spirit of the Tournament, and therefore, not without consequence."

"How?" Albus asked. He glanced at the Goblet, its blue-white flames just visible in the Entrance Hall through the ajar door. Shadows moved around out there too; students, either entering their names or watching those that were, and teachers, supervising. Perhaps one of them was Voldemort's helper, or perhaps it was someone at the table with Albus, or, perhaps they had already come and gone.

"If a Headmaster - or Headmistress-" Damaris inclined her head in Olympe's direction. "-deems the Goblet's chosen Champion unfit to represent their school, they have a day to call a vote to attempt to nullify the magical contract. The result must be unanimously in the favour of the Headmaster that calls for the vote, and, since those voting are the other Headmasters, and the Tournament's organisers, you can imagine why it's considered almost impossible." Her eyes flicked between Albus, Olympe, and Igor.

"And, successful or not, the school takes a hundred point penalty," William said. "So strategically, it's a very bad idea."

"Does ze school forfeit in zis instance?"

"No," Damaris said. "When we lit the Goblet, we bound your schools to this Tournament, so someone _must_ compete. If the vote does somehow succeed, the Goblet then surrenders the other names submitted by that school, and the other Headmasters choose the new Champion."

"Again," William said, looking stressed, "strategically very bad." Damaris seemed less bothered by the idea; she clearly thought it unlikely, but for her, any attention brought to the Tournament was good attention.

"I'll say!" Ludo looked stunned.

"Indeed," Albus murmured, but was privately quite prepared to sacrifice Hogwarts' chances in the Tournament to protect the life of one of his students. "But still useful to know, I think." It would work; if it came to it - and he still hoped Harry was wrong in his guess and it wouldn't - then he thought he could convince his fellows to vote in favour of nullifying the contract. If it came to it, he would have to; Albus would not let Harry down again.


	18. The Goblet Of Fire

When they entered the Great Hall and found seats, Harry's friends spoke about the Halloween decorations rather than discussing potential Champions like the rest of the school, and he appreciated it more than he could ever say. That there was a way for Dumbledore to get him out of it was incredibly comforting, but Harry still couldn't help but be nervous, because what if Voldemort knew, and had a way around it? What if Karkaroff was helping him - despite what Draco and Ron seemed to think - and voted against Dumbledore?

Harry reminded himself that Dumbledore - while still a little worried - had been greatly reassured by his conversation that morning, and tried to draw confidence from that. He also tried not to look at the Goblet of Fire, which sat on its pedestal in the place where the Sorting Hat stool usually resided before the Opening Feast at the start of term.

"Evening." Fred and George sat in uncannily timed unison, drawing Harry out of his own head.

"You two look remarkably unscathed," Draco said. Since they'd last seen the twins at breakfast, being dragged up to the staff table by a furious McGonagall, it was a reasonable observation to make; the twins bragging loudly about successfully bypassing the Age Line hadn't ever had any chance of being well received, and even less so when Padfoot walked in and verified it by claiming he'd seen them and their older accomplice.

"Luckily," Fred said, seeming amused. "I don't reckon I've ever seen old McGonagall so angry..."

"And we've given her a lot of cause, over the years," George added. "'course, once she read the letter and calmed down a bit, she went straight from 'eternal detention this' and 'letters to Mum and Dad that' to giving us a twenty points and a biscuit each."

"Blimey," Ron said, looking awed.

"Then it was just a matter of keeping us there long enough to make it believable-"

"Weasleys!" McLaggen flung his arms over both twins' shoulders. "I can't believe you did it - you're my heroes, seriously!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

Fred and George preened a little, but less than they might have if they'd outsmarted Dumbledore's line without Dumbledore's help.

"Do you reckon you'll be picked?" McLaggen looked eager.

"We can hope, but probably not," Fred said, shrugging. "And even if one of us is picked, I don't reckon they'd let us compete."

When McLaggen had drifted off to sit with the other fifth year boys - who'd claimed the bench beside Fleur Delacour and her friends and didn't seem able to believe their luck (or stop staring) - Fred turned to Harry. "Would they?"

"Not if Dumbledore has anything to say about it," Harry said. Fred and George nodded with satisfaction and slid down the bench to where the rest of the Quidditch team - or former Quidditch team, rather - were sitting.

The five of them were mostly quiet as the food appeared and they loaded their plates - or, in Harry's case, took a roll from the basket in the middle of the table and picked at it, too anxious to feel properly hungry. Ron noticed after a few minutes, frowned, lowered his fork, and put a sausage, some roast vegetables, and a large scoop of some sort of pasta bake onto Harry's empty plate and set it down in front of him.

"'M not hungry," Harry muttered, but Ron gave him a look that was so oddly reminiscent of Molly Weasley that Harry found himself tucking in; whatever happened, Harry supposed, it would be better to deal with it on a full stomach.

Ron nodded, and went back to his own dinner without a word, and glancing up, Harry thought Draco was the only one that had noticed the exchange; the girls were picking nervously at their own dinners, and shooting glances up at the staff table.

Then, Hermione put a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle:

"Look at Hagrid," she said. Hagrid had one elbow in his dinner, chin in hand and was gazing - there really was no other word for it - adoringly down the table at Madame Maxime, who sat between Dumbledore and Moony. McGonagall - who was beside Hagrid - tapped his arm several times, then appeared to give up and vanished the mess, without Hagrid seeming to notice. Ginny snorted into her pumpkin juice, and just like that, the nervous tension around their little group eased - literally; Harry could smell the difference.

"He fancies her," Ron said, eyebrows shooting up.

"Of course he does," Draco said. Harry had to agree; he could see from here that Hagrid had tried to comb his hair, and Harry suspected he was wearing aftershave or something similar; both McGonagall and Padfoot - who had the seats beside him - were leaning slightly away, and Padfoot kept wrinkling his nose. Even Moony, who was on Madame Maxime's other side, kept glancing in Hagrid's direction, though he was clearly far enough away that he found it more funny than uncomfortable. Harry found it in himself to smile, amused. "They're practically _made_ for each other."

" _I_ think it's sweet," Hermione said.

"I didn't say it wasn't," Draco said primly. "I like Hagrid-"

"I know," Hermione said, "but your tone sort of implied-"

"Imagine how big any baby of theirs'd be," Ron interrupted, eyes wide, and even Harry had to laugh at the look on his face. "It'd be as big as you, Ginny." Ginny scowled, but it was good-natured.

The rest of dinner sneaked past while they speculated about Hagrid and so it came as a rather unpleasant shock when the remnants of Harry's treacle tart vanished along with the rest of the plates and cutlery, and Dumbledore stood. The Hall fell immediately silent.

"It is almost time for the Goblet of Fire to make its decision," he said. "Madam Sprottle, if you would…"

Sprottle stood as Dumbledore sat, and strode around the staff table to stand a few feet away from the Goblet, which was burning with bright, white-blue flames that made Harry think of patronuses.

Some people were shifting impatiently in their seats, glancing at their watches and muttering in low voices. Others sat still as statues - non-magical ones - as if they were afraid movement might make the wait longer. Harry was one of the still ones, as were Draco and Ginny, while Ron and Hermione were fidgeters. Up at the staff table, Padfoot was fidgeting too.

Suddenly, the flames turned red and sparks rained out of the Goblet and onto the stone floor - now Harry understood why Sprottle had kept her distance - and then a long tail of flame burst out, flicked like a cat's tail, and released a smoking bit of parchment. Sprottle caught it a little awkwardly in her palms - and Harry had the absurd thought that she clearly hadn't ever been a Seeker - and unfolded it. The Goblet's flames had gone back to an innocent white-blue.

"The Goblet has chosen Viktor Krum to be the Champion for Durmstrang," she said, in a clear, carrying voice, and cheers erupted.

"No surprises there," Ron said to Harry, clapping enthusiastically. Krum stood at the Slytherin table, amidst pats on the back and noisy whistling, then shuffled up to Sprottle, who waved him toward the door in the Hall's back corner. Colin, strategically placed at the end of the Gryffindor table closest to the staff table, snapped away with his camera.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff said loudly. "Knew you had it in you!" Dumbledore clapped politely, but Madame Maxime was eyeing Krum as she clapped, visibly both displeased but unsurprised that it was him who'd been chosen. She leaned over to whisper something to Moony.

A few moments after Krum disappeared, the Goblet's flames turned red again, and flames propelled a second piece of parchment out.

"The Goblet has chosen Fleur Delacour to be the Champion for Beauxbatons," Sprottle announced, and Harry thought that he probably should have seen that one coming too. Fleur rose gracefully, head held high, and with a look on her face that Harry could only describe as satisfied; there was less applause for her than Krum; Harry didn't think it was because she was less popular, but instead because she was rather stunning in her triumph and a good number of people - mainly boys - were too busy staring at her to remember to clap.

Harry did, though, and up at the staff table, Moony clapped loudly, a pleased look on his face.

Two of the Beauxbatons girls over at the Ravenclaw table burst into tears, and a few of the others had sour looks on their faces as they clapped, but the Beauxbatons girls that Fleur had been sitting with on the Gryffindor table were smiling and one even let out a piercing whistle.

Fleur vanished through the door Krum had gone through, and everyone's attention returned to the Goblet. Harry felt like he might choke on his heart, which had taken up residence in his throat, and was regretting how much he'd eaten at dinner.

 _One name left._

There was another whip of red flame, and Harry heard Hermione suck in a breath. The final bit of smoking parchment fluttered down toward Sprottle's palms, and Ron was sitting very still beside Harry. Sprottle caught the parchment, and Draco leaned forward, as if he might be able to read the name from across the Hall. Sprottle unfolded the parchment and cleared her throat, and Ginny was not looking at her, but at Harry.

"The Goblet has chosen Cedric Diggory to be the Champion for Hogwarts." A roar went up, both deafening and oddly distant to Harry all at once, as if his ears were filled with water. Relief flooded through him and he looked immediately to Padfoot, who'd leapt to his feet with a pleased exclamation and then covered himself by applauding in Cedric's direction. Cedric had stood, smiling and accepting pats on the back, and was making his way toward the front of the Hall.

"Diggory, Harry!" Ron laughed, shaking him by the shoulder. Hermione clapped, beaming at Harry across the table, and Draco's scent was satisfied. Ginny - also clapping - caught Harry's eye and he could see the same relieved confusion in her smile as Harry thought must be in his, because having Harry as a Champion had seemed to fit Voldemort's agenda so well. They could worry about how they'd been wrong later though, maybe even be a bit embarrassed about it, but for now… For now, he was just going to be glad for it.

Ginny's smile grew a bit more genuine as she watched Harry, and then there was a surprised murmur racing around the Hall, and Ginny's face went white.

Harry whipped back around, and felt like he was the only one moving in a Hall gone still to watch the once-again-red Goblet shoot out another bit of parchment.

It fluttered downward with deceptive innocence, and Sprottle, who'd been making her way back around the table - presumably to let Dumbledore take over again - watched it in disbelief. Then she unfroze, and walked slowly back to the Goblet, bending to pick the parchment up off the ground.

"The Goblet has chosen Harry Potter to be the Champion for-" Sprottle's eyebrows rose. "-Walpurgis Academy."

There was no applause for Harry, as there had been for the other three. There weren't even whispers just yet, only stunned silence. He was reminded of the first few weeks after he'd managed his animagus transformation and not yet learned to ignore his newly hypersensitive hearing; then, he'd been incredibly aware of the noisy breathing and dull heartbeats of everyone around him, and he was again now.

Harry didn't want to stand, didn't want to leave the safety of the Gryffindor table, but he knew he would have to, and it would be better he did it on his own, with his head up and back straight, than have Sprottle call him again or ask someone to escort him.

Harry stood. There was an edge of dread to his friends' scents - heavy, somehow - but mostly he smelled their resolve. Whether it was to find him a way out, or find a way to get him through if they couldn't, he didn't know. He drew comfort from the fact that whatever came next, they'd be with him, but he knew if he looked at them he'd find it that much harder to walk away, so he didn't. Further down, Colin's camera flashed, and whispers exploded around him:

"Where the bloody hell is Walpurgis Academy?"

"But Potter goes to Hogwarts!"

"Look at his face!"

"He's not even seventeen-"

"That didn't stop the Weasleys..."

"Typical Potter."

"Oh dear." Harry managed to pick Luna's voice out of the crowd. "I don't think Harry wants to be a Champion."

"Surely it's a mistake - it's a _Tri_ wizard Tournament, not a _Quad_ wizard Tournament."

There were some rather unsavoury names moving around the Hall too, but Harry just tightened his jaw and pretended not to hear them - with normal hearing, he wouldn't have. Of everything being said - the names, and the questions, and the theories, and everything else - only one comment almost got him:

"Look at Black's face!"

Harry didn't dare.

* * *

"Cedric Diggory," said the handsome boy that had joined Fleur and Krum by the fire. He shook both their hands, then moved back, seeming unable to decide whether he wanted to stare at Fleur or Krum more. Fleur found herself amused by it; it was a novel thing for her, and when Krum made a soft noise that might have been a laugh, she thought he must be thinking the same. "Hogwarts Champion. I mean- yeah, that was probably obvious." He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Krum now. "I'm a massive fan, sorry. It's a bit surreal to think we'll be competing against each other. You're- _both_ of you are..." He trailed off with a self deprecating grin, and Fleur decided she liked him, this startlingly normal boy that would compete against an international Quidditch star, and her.

"You are clearly also somethink as vell," Krum said, studying him from beneath thick eyebrows. "The Goblet vould not haff chosen you othervise."

Fleur blinked, because _that_ was a very good point. Cedric Diggory seemed genuinely polite and normal and altogether very unassuming compared to Krum, and was perhaps more dangerous because of it. Krum was a competitor she could respect, could challenge herself against. Cedric was someone she could see herself genuinely liking, and that made him a threat.

"Well," Fleur said, drawing herself up to her full height, and letting a little of her veela magic coat herself, "may the best witch win." Cedric blinked and went a bit pink, then seemed to shake it off.

"We'll see," he said, with a playful grin that had Fleur's own mouth turning up in response. Yes, she would need to be careful of him. She glanced at Krum to gauge his reaction.

"We practiced for the Vorld Cup vith full veela tryink to distract us," he told her with a little smirk. "You vill have to try to get the upper hand another vay."

"I look forward to it," she said, a little thrill going through her at the idea.

There were footsteps then, quiet ones, and only a single pair. Fleur and the other two turned to see not one of the Headmasters, or Madame Sprottle, or even her assistant, but-

"Potter?" Cedric asked. Potter's eyes flicked to him and his mouth turned down. Cedric made a small movement toward the other boy, then seemed to think better of it. "Are-?"

"What is it?" Fleur asked, stung that Potter's eyes had not yet landed on her at all, even when she was projecting. "Do they want us back in the Hall?"

"No," Harry said dully, and went to stand by Cedric. He stared down at the fire, looking tired. Fleur could have been any other person, for all the attention he spared her, and the same was true of Krum. Fleur didn't like it any more than she had yesterday, but Krum gave Harry a curious look.

"What's happened?" Cedric asked. Harry glanced up at him, then over at Fleur and Krum. He sighed, and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by loud footsteps, and distant voices.

Auror Black swept into the room and pulled Harry into a hug. Krum caught Fleur's eye and she shrugged. Cedric looked troubled. Harry did not pull away or protest like most other teenage boys would have, but rather clung to Auror Black for several long seconds.

They were speaking, she thought, because their mouths were moving, but - though they were only a few feet away - she could not hear even a whisper.

Everyone else arrived then, and loudly; Headmaster Karkaroff was talking angrily at Headmaster Dumbledore while two of Hogwarts' other teachers - the stern witch in tartan, and the younger, dark haired man with the bad skin and hair - exchanged grim looks. Madame Maxime and Madame Sprottle were both silent, and wore identical troubled expressions, and Monseiur Lupin said nothing at all, just swept past everyone to go and stand by Auror Black and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Fleur scowled.

"What is happening?" she demanded.

"We have a fourth Champion!" Monsieur Bagman trotted in to join them with Madame Sprottle's assistant - who had an enormous book cradled in his arms - trailing behind. "Exciting stuff! Never a dull moment where Harry Potter's concerned, am I right?!" Fleur thought she heard Auror Black growl and Monsieur Lupin put a hand on his arm. Then her eyes moved slightly to their left, because there were more important things to worry about.

"Is this a joke?" she asked.

"Not at all," Monsieur Bagman said. "Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, same as yours."

Harry Potter, a Champion?! Harry tightened his jaw and bore her narrow-eyed look with a stiff sort of defiance. Krum got the same look, but Cedric got a tiny, helpless shrug.

"Him? That _boy_?" Potter scowled, but Auror Black looked ill. "He is too young!" Fleur spun to look at her Headmistress, who put a heavy, ringed hand on her shoulder but said nothing, eyes on Monsieur Lupin, who seemed to be having a silent conversation with Auror Black. Headmaster Karkaroff, at least, responded appropriately:

"It's an outrage," he said, jabbing an angry finger at Headmaster Dumbledore. "Hogwarts cannot have _two_ Champions, I-"

"Hogwarts does not," said the greasy looking professor that had accompanied Headmaster Dumbledore, tone sharp as a knife. "If you were listening, Karakaroff, Potter is the Champion for Walpurgis Academy."

"Severus," Headmaster Dumbledore murmured, but didn't actually sound like he minded.

"He looks like a Hogwarts student to me," Headmaster Karkaroff said. Potter met his gaze, eyes sharp and almost dangerous-looking, and Karkaroff was the first to look away. No love lost there, clearly.

"He is," Headmaster Dumbledore said, and gone was the happy, grandfatherly man he'd been since they arrived. He was still calm, but his tone was cool and unyielding as ice. Headmaster Karkaroff wilted a little. Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Madam Sprottle, as Harry's Headmaster, I really must object to him being made to represent another school."

"I object to him competing at all," Auror Black said, placing both hands on Harry's shoulders and glaring at them all over the boy's shoulder. "Harry's underage and as his guardian-"

"None of that matters," Madame Sprottle's assistant interrupted. He was balancing his open book precariously on his knee. "The rules clearly state that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament."

"It's probably not even a real school," the witch in tartan said. "Surely-"

"It is, actually." Madame Sprottle had joined her assistant and procured a folded piece of parchment from the front cover of the book. "This is the list of schools that registered for the Tournament when it was announced." She tapped a name near the end of a rather long list. "Walpurgis Academy, registered by Headmaster D. Polkov."

Harry, Auror Black, Monsieur Lupin, and Headmaster Dumbledore all reacted to that, either with strange, choked noises, or aborted movements; Auror Black's knuckles went white on Harry's shoulders, which must have hurt, but the boy didn't even flinch. A look passed between the four of them, something significant, though Fleur couldn't guess what.

"The duellink school?" Krum asked into the heavy silence that followed.

"Polkov ran a club, not an school," Headmaster Karkaroff said, sounding disgruntled rather than angry now. Harry and Auror Black's heads snapped over to him in uncanny unison, like dogs that had heard their food bowls being filled, and they they exchanged a loaded look. "And I was under the impression it was exclusive to Durmstrang."

"Apparently not," Madame Sprottle said, watching Harry with pursed lips. "Is Polkov here at Hogwarts?" Fleur watched with interest as the corners of Harry's mouth turned down.

"He was killed at the World Cup," Headmaster Karkaroff said.

"Surely that means we can get Harry out of it," Auror Black said to Madame Sprottle.

"Did the school remain open?" Madame Sprottle's assistant asked Karkaroff. He shrugged.

"I think before we try to get him out of it, we should hear what young Harry has to say about this," Monsieur Bagman interrupted. "He's been very quiet so far, and he wouldn't have put his name in if he didn't want to compete." He grinned at Harry, and Auror Black opened his mouth, expression furious, but Monsieur Lupin elbowed him and he snapped it shut and shot Monsieur Lupin a disgruntled look.

"I didn't out my name in," Harry said, quietly, but firmly. "And I don't want to compete." He tilted his head as if studying Monsieur Bagman. After several long moments that left Monsieur Bagman looking unnerved, Harry shook his head slightly.

"Happy?" Auror Black asked, baring his teeth.

"Not at all," Headmaster Karkaroff said. "Who else would have entered him?"

"If he did not enter and does not want to compete, then we cannot allow him to," Madame Maxime said, speaking for the first time. Harry shot her a surprised but grateful look, that spasmed when she added, "He is only a boy."

After a moment, Madame Sprottle nodded.

"William, can you try to get in contact with someone at Walpurgis Academy - perhaps they can shed some light on this, and, failing that, may be able to withdraw their school. It is not bound as tightly to the Goblet as Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, so there may be a way… Failing that, the new Headmaster or Headmistress might be willing to call that vote we were discussing earlier today." She exchanged significant glances with the Headmasters and Madame Maxime. Madame Sprottle's assistant bobbed his head and hurried out, clutching his rulebook and the list of schools.

"And failing that, I compete, right?" Harry's tone was matter of fact.

"You're _not_ -" Auror Black began.

"Failing that, yes, you compete." Madame Sprottle said over the top of him. Harry nodded, shrinking - just slightly - back against Auror Black. Monsieur Lupin reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

"Instruction time, I think," Monsieur Bagman said, and when Sprottle nodded, bounced forward, gesturing for Fleur and the others to come closer. "You too, Harry, until you're out, you're in." Harry squeezed in beside Cedric, expression resigned.

"Now, the first task…" Fleur's stomach gave a little leap. "It's designed to test your daring, so we won't tell you what it is. You'll need to show courage in the face of the unknown - a very important quality in a witch or wizard." Behind Monsieur Bagman, the greasy professor - Severus - leaned over and muttered something to Auror Black, who snorted, his expression wry. "You will be armed with your wand, and only your wand."

"The task will take place on the twenty-fourth of November," Madame Sprottle said, "and you will perform in front of your peers and the panel of judges."

"That's me, Damaris, Dumbledore, Maxime, and Karkaroff," Monseiur Bagman said. "And maybe someone from Walpurgis, depending on how things work out." He winked at Harry, who grimaced.

Madame Sprottle took over again:

"As Champions, you are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from anyone involved with the running and organisation of the Tournament - like myself, William, or Mister Bagman - or from your teachers."

Auror Black twitched, and Monsieur Lupin murmured something that made him relax and nod. Harry's mouth twitched up ever so slightly - at the exact same time as Monsieur Lupin's - though his back was to them and he shouldn't have had any idea what was going on.

Headmaster Karkaroff was exchanging a look with Krum, and Fleur interpreted it as a silent agreement to disregard that particular rule.

Fleur nodded to Madame Sprottle to show she understood, but wondered how loose they would be able to be with their definition of 'help'.

"Any questions? No?" Bagman clapped his hands together. "The four of you can go, then, and the rest of us-" He gestured to himself and the other older adults. "-can pretend we think you've gone to bed and not to join rowdy celebrations." He winked. "Nightcap, Dumbledore? Damaris?"

"I think I need one," Headmaster Karkaroff said, and Madame Maxime nodded tiredly.

"Sirius..." Headmaster Dumbledore said.

"I'll be awake," Auror Black said, stepping forward to put a hand on Harry's shoulder and start guiding him toward the door. "Moony?"

"I'll drop by the carriage at midnight, and make sure the students are all in bed," Monsieur Lupin said to Madame Maxime in French.

"See hello to your Dora for me" she replied, and Monsieur Lupin smiled and nodded, then fell into step beside Fleur as they left the antechamber.

"Congratulations," he said, in quiet French. "I think - with everything else that's just happened - we all forgot to say that." She smiled at him and he smiled back, tired but genuine. "You'll do brilliantly, I'm sure."

"I know I will." His smile became distinctly amused.

"You really didn't put your name in?" Cedric asked Harry, as they made their way through the empty Hall.

"I really didn't," Harry said. Cedric blew out a long breath, then wished everyone a good night and peeled away from the little group to disappear down a side door.

"Hopefully, they vill get you free of it, then, for your sake," Krum said seriously. "You are young, and not prepared, and vill only be at risk otherwise." He nodded at Fleur, ignored Monsieur Lupin and Auror Black, and headed for the large doors to the grounds.

"He should not be allowed to compete," Fleur said to Monsieur Lupin, in French.

"No arguments there," Monsieur Lupin replied. Harry looked between them, eyes narrowed slightly, as if he knew he was being talked about.

"You are too young," she told him, in English this time, so he'd understand. "You should not be allowed to compete."

"Wish the Goblet thought so," he said. She wasn't sure if he meant it as an agreement, or was trying to make a point.

"Hopefully they get you out," she said. She might be able to forgive him for all of this if they did. "But if they don't, you'd do well to remember that you are to us what a first year is to you, and that we entered this Tournament to win. You say you don't want to compete - maybe it's true, maybe it's not - but if you're made to, you'll be after the prize, same as the rest of us." She looked down her nose at him. "The moment you become a competitor, you become a threat, and I will not be soft with you because you are a child."

Monsieur Lupin pursed his lips disapprovingly, but didn't tell her off, perhaps understanding that this was a matter between Champions- or one Champion, and whatever it was that Harry might be. Auror Black was impassive, and Harry...

Harry was neither cowed or defiant; he chuckled, with grim but real amusement.

"No one ever is," Harry said, and Auror Black made a strange noise in his throat. "You can have the cup and the galleons and the glory, or Cedric or Krum can," he said. "I don't care."

And then, as if she didn't already have enough reasons to dislike him, he turned and started up the wide staircase, denying her of the chance to have the last word.


	19. Walpurgis Academy

Harry did not return to the Gryffindor common room, but rather joined Padfoot and Moony on their way up to Padfoot's quarters. He wanted his family and his friends equally, but to get to his friends he'd have to deal with the rest of Gryffindor and he didn't feel up to that just yet.

They must have guessed that would be the case, though, because as they neared the door, Harry could hear Draco and Ginny's voices drifting out through it. Padfoot had obviously heard the same and squeezed Harry's shoulder bracingly as they pushed the door open.

Ron was bent in silent contemplation of a chess board while Dora and Draco talked tactics on the other side of it, and - though the game looked almost finished which meant they'd been there for a while - both Ron and Draco were flushed and sweaty as if they'd been running around and not sitting down. Dora had Stella on her knee and Ginny was sitting at her feet, talking nonsense and tracing her wand through the air; Stella blinked at the coppery sparks that followed in its wake, a confused but happy look on her round little face. Hermione was sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by several large books, a stack of newspapers, and what looked like some sort of registration form. They all looked up at Harry, and Padfoot, and Moony as they entered, expressions grim.

"They've just told me," Dora said, leaving Draco to fend for himself as she carried Stella over to Moony - who was pulling silly faces - and deposited her in his arms. She gave a happy gurgle, and Dora wrapped her now-free arms around Harry, then released him and turned to Moony and Padfoot, asking questions in a low voice. Harry wriggled a finger at his godsister in greeting, and let himself be soothed by the warm, clean, baby smell of her.

"Walpurgis Academy's a small duelling school located in Europe," Hermione said without prompting, and Harry took his eyes off Stella so he could look at her. As if that was some sort of cue, Ron and Draco both glanced up, chess game forgotten, and Ginny shuffled away from the couch and closer to Hermione. "Located near Durmstrang I think - and it was founded two years ago by-"

"Dmitri Polkov," Harry said heavily. "I know." He was mildly impressed she did, though.

"Yes," Hermione said, shoving her hair out of her face as she ducked her head to keep reading. "And-"

"And he's dead," Harry said. "So-"

"Yes," Hermione said patiently. She waited, perhaps thinking Harry was going to interrupt again. When he didn't, she pointed for him to sit down on the floor opposite her. She only gave him about a second to do so before saying, "I'd hoped the school might have been shut down as a result, because then there'd be grounds to have you withdrawn from the Tournament without needing to involve anyone else-" She tapped the book, which looked like a newer version of Pemberley's rulebook. "-but it didn't. According to this, ownership, and the position of Headmaster, was passed on to Polkov's Deputy Headmaster." She picked up a newspaper clipping written in a different language and waved it at him.

"How can you even read that?" Harry stared at the newspaper.

"Translation spell," Hermione said impatiently. "Dora taught me-"

"Dead useful while we were in France, that one," Dora said, turning very briefly away from her huddled conversation with Moony and Padfoot. Hermione smiled in her direction, then turned back to Harry, expression serious.

"So," she said, "Walpurgis Academy was shut for a few days after Polkov died, but was planning to reopen, with the Deputy stepping up to fill the role of Headmaster. I couldn't find any articles about the reopening, but I think it's safe to assume it happened, because there was a small notice in the most recent edition of _The Duelist's Update -_ which came out _after_ the article in the paper - that said enrollments had opened for this term."

"Great," Harry said without enthusiasm.

" _That's_ not," she conceded with an understanding smile, " _but_ at least we know about the Deputy. If we can get in touch with them, we might be able to talk them into calling that vote Dumbledore told you about. That's something."

"Okay," Harry said, nodding. He didn't let himself hope - instinct was telling him he shouldn't - but she was right; this was _something_. "So who's the Deputy?"

"I don't have a name," Hermione admitted. "Neither article gives anything but their title-"

"Of course not," Harry sighed. "So how-?" Hermione, amazingly, had an answer for him, though he hadn't actually expected one:

"There's an international database of wizarding schools. It has up to date contact details and enrolment requirements. I found out about it over the summer, after… everything." She bit her lip, then shook herself. "They're usually a bit slow by post, but Marlene's gone to their office - there's always someone there, because of all the different time zones. She left about an hour ago, so she should be back… Well, any time, really."

"You're incredible," Harry said fervently, and Hermione smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"I didn't do all the work," she said. "Ron and Draco have been running to and from the library to bring me whatever I've needed, and that's saved a lot of time." That explained Ron and Draco's red faces, then. Hermione squeezed his hand again, then let go. "We'll get you out of this, Harry." Ron and Draco both nodded determinedly but Ginny was silent. Her scent was grim and resigned, and Harry didn't think she liked their chances of getting him out any better than he did. LIke him, she knew Voldemort well enough to know better. His thoughts must have shown on his face because Ginny scrunched her nose up in apology. He just shrugged

"What did the other Champions have to say about it all?" Draco asked. Harry could tell Ron was itching to ask about Krum, but he didn't.

"They were a bit confused to start with. Fleur Delacour kept calling me a child-" Harry had mixed feelings about that; on the one hand, he didn't like being called a child, didn't like the way everyone had seemed to equate 'child' with 'incapable'. On the other hand, he _was_ younger than Champions were supposed to be, and it was not necessarily a bad thing to give everyone regular reminders of that, because it would keep them motivated to find him a way out. "-and then threatened me. Krum sort of did too-" Ron's eyebrows show up. "-or at least it sounded that way, but he didn't smell like he meant it to be a threat, so I don't really know what to make of it. And Cedric asked me if I'd put my name in, so I told him I hadn't." Harry shrugged. "I don't think he knew what to think."

"He'll believe you," Ron said. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because Potter's complete disregard for his own personal safety and the rules-" Draco smelled oddly fond as he said that. "-often results in him in in the spotlight."

"Draco!" Hermione said, aghast. "Harry, ignore-"

"No," Harry said. "He's right. That's what people will think. It's less far fetched than the truth, anyway."

"'S 'cause it is the truth," Ron said with a grin. "The two are just unrelated this time, that's all." Draco snorted and Hermione glanced at Harry, perhaps wanting to check that he wasn't offended before allowing herself to smile. "The trouble's going to be getting them to see it."

"No," Ginny said. "If you'd been entered as a Hogwarts Champion, or under a fake school, maybe there'd be backlash, but with this… You're one of ours-" She waved at the Hogwarts banner on the wall by the fireplace. "-and people aren't going to be happy you're being made to represent another school."

"Especially if you do well," Hermione said, and then straightened, voice firm: "But it's not going to come to that, because we're going to get you out."

Harry's luck was always extremely good or extremely bad. But, while he had to regularly deal with the latter, at least the former had ensured he'd have these four with him while he did.

The Floo flared and Marlene stumbled out, catching the mantel for balance. Harry scrambled to his feet and the others did the same. Marlene was pale and drawn but smelled too strongly of soot and Floo powder for Harry to be able to know whether it was because of bad news, or because she was simply tired from the travel.

"How was Singapore?" Dora asked, as she, Moony, and Padfoot came to join them.

"Humid," Marlene replied, pushing her short hair out of her face. "And we have a problem." Harry's heart sank, and his nose was overwhelmed by the scents of worry, disappointment, and resignation in the room.

"A problem like you were caught making illegal portkeys to Singapore?" Padfoot asked, and Harry thought it was indicative of how potentially dire their current situation was that he actually sounded hopeful. "Or a _problem_?" His eyes flicked from her to Harry. Marlene pulled a bit of parchment from her robes and unfolded it.

"Walpurgis' new Headmaster is a Mister Tom Riddle," Marlene said. Harry had about a second to appreciate that she'd just come out and said it rather than leave them all in suspense, and then he actually began to process _what_ she'd said and felt the air whoosh out of him like he'd been hit in the chest by a bludger.

Dora - her hair now a despairing navy blue - and Ron both swore, Hermione looked crestfallen, Draco was silent and Ginny was very still. Padfoot put a hand over his eyes and Moony pressed his lips into a thin line. In his arms, Stella burbled obliviously.

"I wish I'd brought better news," Marlene said, running a gentle hand through Harry's hair. Harry wished she had too.

"Harry," Hermione said, sounding wretched, "I'm sorry, I thought- I hoped-" Ron patted her on the back, but he was looking at Harry and there was none of his usual humour in his eyes.

"It's fine," Harry said, reaching out to put a hand on Padfoot's elbow. Padfoot's hand - the one that wasn't over his eyes - came up to grip it, so tightly it was almost painful. Harry forced levity into his voice, since Ron clearly wasn't up to making light of things. "Tom and I go back a long way, so I'm sure if I just send him an owl and explain the situation…" He got snorts out of Draco and Moony, and a bleak laugh from Dora for his trouble, but an awful, tired silence followed.

Harry couldn't find the energy to try to break it again.

* * *

The following morning saw Ron out of bed before any of the rest of them, or, at least before Malfoy; when Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Malfoy had taken Remus up on his offer to walk them up to the common room before heading back to Beauxbatons, Harry had stayed behind, intending to sleep on the couch in Sirius' quarters. It had been him that asked to do so, not Sirius, and Ron thought that was pretty telling about how unsettled Harry was, despite the brave face he'd been putting on.

Ron thought he was perfectly entitled to spend a bit of time feeling nervous, or angry, or sorry for himself, or all of those thing at once. Ron would certainly want the chance to do the same, were he in Harry's position; there wouldn't be time to just sit and feel, later, because soon Harry would be too busy trying to stay alive.

Hermione hadn't yet made her way down to the common room, but Ginny had, and was curled up in an armchair, wearing an old jumper of Charlie's and staring so intently into the fire that she didn't notice Ron come downstairs. Ron didn't disturb her; curling up to think was Ginny's way of coping - or one of them, the other being to get angry and mean - just as Hermione's was to cry for a bit and and then throw herself into researching a solution, and Malfoy's was be to go and find Snape. It was maybe not such a bad thing that Harry had stayed away overnight; it gave them all the time they needed to process things the way they needed to, to be unashamedly upset and worried without making Harry feel worse for having to watch.

Ron let himself out of the common room and headed down the seventh floor corridor until he was standing in front of an all-too-familiar stretch of wall. Despite his best efforts all term, the wall had remained frustratingly doorless, and he'd started to give up on ever getting back in.

This morning, though, he had renewed purpose; there was nothing he could do to stop Harry from competing, but he could try to help Harry stay alive. They all could.

But for that they didn't need the room of junk Wormtail had lived in. They needed something different, but the room had created doors as Ron and Wormtail needed them, had created stairs for Ron, so what was to say it couldn't do more?

They needed books of useful spells, and practice dummies like the battered one Harry and Sirius had at Grimmauld, and anything else that might occur to them later. Ron needed a place where they could train. And, Ron needed a place where they could feel safe when things got inevitably got tense and messy on the outside, a place where they could come and throw theories around without being overheard, a place where they could sit quietly and relax, and just enjoy each other's company when everything on the outside got to be too much.

He told the room so several times - once or twice in his head and once or twice out loud - and was genuinely disappointed when that didn't work.

Ron let out a frustrated breath and hit the wall.

"Please!" he said. "I need a place where we can help Harry. And Draco, down the line, But mostly Harry right now. Please."

When he was worked up, Ron didn't go still like Ginny did. Sometimes he bounced his leg, other times he fiddled with whatever was in front of him, or tapped his fingers on the arms of chairs or the tops of tables.

There, in the empty hallway, he paced.

* * *

Harry'd had trouble getting to sleep, and once he had it had been fitful; a dream of Ludo Bagman telling him he had to fight a basilisk for the first task, had turned into his old nightmare of the Chamber, but with Fleur Delacour standing beside Riddle the whole time, scoffing at him and saying she'd told him he was too young, as Harry lay dying from the fang in his back. Then Riddle had turned into Krum and told Harry the second task was dementors and Harry'd been back in the forest with Wormtail. When he'd pulled his wand to cast a patronus though, it wasn't Prongs that had emerged, but a large skull with a snake for a tongue that burned like Fiendfyre but glowed killing curse green and was oddly familiar even though Harry was sure he'd never seen it before. Then, he'd been in the Hall, alone but for the Goblet, and there'd been a flash of fiery red and hundreds of pieces of singed parchment burst from the Goblet, all bearing his name. Instead of silence, though, and Sprottle catching a piece to call Harry's name, there had been James:

" _Lily, it's him!_ " Only in his dream, James hadn't meant Voldemort; he'd appeared beside the Goblet and was holding one of the bits of parchment bearing Harry's name: " _It's him. Lily, it's him_!"

" _Not Harry_!" Lily had replied. " _Please, not Harry_!" Harry'd jerked awake, sweaty and panting, with Lily's begging echoing in his ears.

Padfoot had come out to join him only moments later, looking like he'd slept just as badly as Harry - if he'd slept at all - and the two of them sat in silence, watching the sun rise over the grounds and the masts of Dumstrang's ship, and the scrollwork on the top of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage.

Padfoot had Flooed out to update Robards and Scrimgeour not long after, and only been gone for a few moments when there was a soft knock at the door.

Hermione stood there alone, smelling determined rather than pitying, though worry flared in her scent as she looked him over. Harry was grateful she didn't ask how he'd slept, or how he was doing, or tell him he looked awful.

"I thought you might like to go for a walk," Hermione said. Harry was surprised how much the idea appealed to him, and he nodded, stepping back inside to put his shoes on. "Draco's with Snape, but Ginny's going to meet us and bring breakfast-" Hermione looked around the empty room and frowned. "Where's Ron?"

"Haven't seen him," Harry said, and Hermione's frown deepened in a way that had Harry scrambling for the map in his pocket. "Has he been gone long?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and not sharp.

"Draco heard him leave this morning, early," Hermione said, peering at the map over his shoulder. "We assumed he'd be with you." Harry scanned the map for Ron's name for several long moments, heart in his throat, because this couldn't be happening again, not _now_ , and then sagged in relief when he spotted footprints and _Ron Weasley_ standing outside the Gryffindor common room with Fred, George, and Neville.

Harry tucked the map away, feeling a little foolish for his reaction, but Hermione looked equally relieved and sheepish, so at least he wasn't alone in that. They headed downstairs in comfortable silence, with Harry wondering why Ron _hadn't_ come to find him yet, and why he'd avoided the others. It was still early, and a weekend to boot, so the hallways were quiet enough that they stuck to the main corridors, rather than weaving their way down through secret passages.

Ginny, as Hermione had said, was waiting for them in the Entrance Hall, hands clasped precariously around a stack of buttery toast and bacon, and a bulging napkin which Harry's nose told him contained pastries. Luna was standing beside her, wearing bright purple gumboots and holding a bucket of pilfered bacon, sausages, and ham. Harry stomach growled.

"Good morning," Luna said, smiling dreamily at them. Ginny's lips curled up into a not-quite-smile when she saw Harry and Hermione, but she was otherwise silent.

"Hello, Luna," Hermione said, a little uncertain. She glanced at Ginny, then back to Luna. "Are you joining us...?"

"No, but it's kind of you to ask," Luna said, beaming. "Ginny's usually the only one that invites me anywhere."

"Oh," Hermione said. "I- well, you're welcome." She smiled, confused but genuine and Luna smiled back, then turned her large blue eyes on Harry.

"I'm very sorry about last night," Luna said. "You didn't look like you were happy to see your name come out of the Goblet of Fire." Hermione tensed, shooting a nervous look at Harry, and Ginny watched Luna with an exasperated sort of fondness, then grimaced at Harry in apology. Harry, though, found he didn't mind. It was refreshing to have someone be so direct, and to be simply sorry for his circumstances, rather than panicked or worried for him.

"No, I wasn't really," he said. "Thanks, Luna."

"I wouldn't worry too much," she said, after a moment spent studying his face, with her usual, slightly unnerving intensity. "Whether you wanted it or not, you're very well suited to the title of Champion, and I'm think you'll do wonderfully." She patted his arm and drifted off, bucket swinging in one hand. Harry stared after her until Hermione huffed in amusement and ushered Harry and Ginny out onto the grounds.

They divided Ginny's food up between the three of them and started around the lake. The grounds were far livelier than the inside of the castle had been, but no one disturbed them; Krum was having an early morning swim while a gaggle of admirers watched on (Hermione rolled her eyes when she noticed), Hagrid was with Madame Maxime and two students, tending the enormous Beauxbatons horses, and Moony gave Harry a small wave as he stepped out of the carriage with Fleur Delacour and a handful of other students and headed up to breakfast.

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny settled in the dappled sun on the far bank of the lake.

"We should start on that Charms essay for Flitwick when we get back," Hermione said. It was such a _normal_ thing to say that Harry let out a surprised laugh. Hermione looked pleased with herself, and he realised she'd done it deliberately.

"Maybe," he said. "I think I might see if Ron wants to go for a fly first, though." He tried not to worry that Ron hadn't caught up with them yet; sure;y he wasn't avoiding them, surely he was just waiting for Draco, to finish with Snape so they could come together. "Maybe even a few others, see if we can scrape a bit of a game together." He looked at Ginny. "You in?" She looked up from watched Krum in the lake.

"If I can get my hands on a broom, sure," she said, grinning.

"Well," Hermione said, sounding both fond and exasperated. "Here I was worrying about you, but clearly you're not too upset, if you've still got it in you to think about Quidditch."

"Quidditch fixes everything," Ginny said sagely, then gave Hermione a cheeky smile. "Didn't you know?"

" _Flying_ fixes everything," Harry said. "At least until you land and have to deal with everything on the ground again."

"Don't land," Ginny suggested.

"Don't tempt me," Harry muttered.

"You'd _have_ to land," Hermione said, and Harry waited for her to point out some responsibility or other, but she only said, "I'd miss you far too much, otherwise."

"Nothing's stopping you from getting on a broom to come and visit," Harry said. He lay back on the grass and watched the Whomping Willow swat lazily at a parcel-laden owl. "And we could write."

"You're awful," Hermione laughed, reaching out to smack him. He rolled to avoid it, laughing too.

"Or we could talk Luna into taking you up on a thestral," Ginny said. "I'm sure she wouldn't-" She broke off, and Harry glanced over to see her staring at the owl he'd noticed just before, which was swooping gracefully down toward them. It was large and black, with angry orange eyes that met Harry's for the brief moment it took for it to drop the parcel right at his feet. Then, it veered away. The parcel was rectangular, with sharp corners, but looked boxy rather than bookish. It was wrapped neatly in brown paper and twine, and had no accompanying note.

"Strange," Hermione said, eyes on the retreating owl. "Are you expecting anything?" Harry shook his head. There were spells to check this sort of thing - he knew that much from Padfoot, and from Dora who'd had them drilled into her by Moody - but he didn't know any of them.

"Do you think it's safe?" Ginny asked. She had her wand out and was eyeing the parcel warily.

"Probably," Harry said. "Why would anyone try to hurt me by post when the Tournament can do it much more easily and much less conspicuously?" Ginny grunted and lowered her wand.

"It could be from one of the other competitors, though," Hermione said, frowning at the parcel. Harry blinked in surprise. "You said Fleur and Krum threatened you." Admittedly, Harry didn't know either Krum or Fleur well, but neither had struck him as the sort to try anything by post; they were so sure he was young and helpless that surely they wouldn't see the need.

Still...

 _Ostendere me omnia_ , he thought, looking directly at the parcel. Gleaming magic shone in his periphery - Ginny coppery, Hermione soft blue and gold, his own red and gold, and Hogwarts itself every possible colour Harry could imagine - but the parcel was dull. He let the vision fall away, blinking as his eyes readjusted.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, alarmed.

"M'fine," he said, and he was, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses; last time he'd tried that he'd been inside the castle and been temporarily blinded by the sheer amount of magic. The grounds were far less overwhelming. "I was just checking, and it's fine - no spells or magic on it."

"Poison?" Ginny suggested. Harry leaned forward and sniffed the parcel. He could smell the owl but not much else.

"I don't think so," he said, but drew his wand. " _Diffindo_." The twine and paper split, and Harry nudged the wrapping open with the tip of his wand, then used a quick levitation charm to get the lid off the box inside.

Ginny and Hermione both leaned forward curiously.

Inside was a puddle of black fabric bearing an unfamiliar crest, and a small piece of expensive parchment folded in half, with the visible side bearing the same crest as the fabric, and the words _Walpurgis Academy._

A feeling of horrified disbelief flooded Harry, but he swallowed and shifted closer so he could use the tip of his wand to lift the edge of the parchment enough to see what was written inside it.

There were three words there, written in handwriting that was unfamiliar to Harry but that he was sure he knew the owner of all the same, both because of the way Ginny reared back with a sound that was half sob, half choke, and because of the words themselves:

 _For my Champion_.


	20. A Champion

Lord Voldemort had never felt such agony. It clawed at him like something feral, shredding his insides. There was panic too, and fear and horror and loathing, and while it was not a physical wound it stung like one, ached like one.

Best of all, it wasn't his.

He breathed deeply, enjoying the phantom tightness in his chest, and ran a hand over Nagini's smooth scales.

Potter did not usually feel things strongly enough to disturb Lord Voldemort, but Lord Voldemort had been actively foraying into Potter's mind of late, testing, studying, and finally, planting the vision of about their plans with the dragon. Perhaps he had widened the link between them accidentally. Perhaps he was merely attuned to the boy after so much time spent reaching out to him.

It was useful, undoubtedly, but a liability; if he could exploit it, so could the boy. He would have to see what he could do about closing it, or at least blocking it between instances of it being useful.

But not right now.

Right now, he was enjoying himself.

Harry Potter had been thwarting him since he was born under prophecy. The boy had defeated him at Godric's Hollow all those years ago, had somehow weaseled the Philosopher's Stone away from him, had slain his basilisk and destroyed his diary, had thwarted his servants again and again, and usually had some of Dumbledore's drivel or a taunt on his lips whilst doing so. The cloak had been a success, but a narrow one and hard fought for.

This, though… this was a win.

Potter was in the Tournament, but that had been the product of so much careful planning that it had more or less been an inevitability. Lord Voldemort had not been able to foresee any circumstances under which Potter would not have been made a Champion.

But breaking him… Lord Voldemort had known Potter would understand the significance of the uniform and note, had known it would rattle him, had known he would see it for the gloat it was, but he hadn't thought it would be enough to _break_ Harry Potter, the boy that dared call him by name, that dared defy him. And yet it had, at least in part.

It was delicious.

When Potter's irritating luck inevitably kicked in and started to make Lord Voldemort's plans that much harder - because Potter as a Champion was an inevitability, but the rest was not - he would think back to this moment, would remember this heading feeling of victory over Potter, and let it drive him to do whatever he could to ensure he felt it again.

* * *

The morning seemed a lot darker than it had a few moments ago when they were laughing about Quidditch and Hermione's dislike of flying, and colder too; Harry had gone silent and unnaturally still, so still that she might have thought him Petrified, or the victim of a Body Bind, except she could see the almost forcedly even rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional blink. His eyes had not left the box. Ginny was shaking - she had been from the moment she laid eyes on the note - and her eyes were open but she wasn't seeing, Hermione didn't think.

Hermione cleared her throat - softly, but obviously enough that they should have been able to hear her.

Ginny's head moved to look at Hermione before her eyes did.

"I'm fine," she said, after a moment. "Just seeing- it took me by surprise, that's all." She took a shaky breath and hugged herself. "I'm fine."

Hermione wasn't convinced, and she didn't even have Harry's animagus senses. But, Harry himself said nothing to dispute Ginny's claim, so maybe she was telling the truth. Then again, Hermione wasn't sure he'd even heard her.

"Harry?" she asked, reaching for his arm. The moment she made contact, static zapped from her fingers to her elbow to her shoulder, painful and then numb in quick succession. Hermione yanked her arm back, shaking it to try to get feeling back into it. "If you didn't want me to touch you, you could've just said so," she said, trying for levity but only managing to sound hurt.

Like Ginny had just before, Harry's head turned toward her before his eyes, hazy for a moment and then suddenly clearer.

"Sorry," he said, voice hoarse, "I didn't- that was an accident." Hermione's eyebrows rose of their own accord, and he reached out to squeeze her fingers in apology. And then he was gone again, expression scrunching and eyes glazing over slightly. She knew the expression, had seen it only a few days before, while they were watching Durmstrang's representatives arrive.

She gave Harry's hand a sharp squeeze - there with him, even if he didn't know it - and reached out to pat the nearest part of Ginny - her ankle - to get her attention. Ginny yelped, startling and looked around with wild eyes before taking in Hermione, Harry, and the box, and- well, not relaxing, but at least seeming to realise where she was and that there was no immediate danger.

"Would you like to go inside?" She wished Ron or Draco - or both of them - were here, not because they'd know how to handle it any better, necessarily, but so that they could divide and conquer, so to speak. "We can find Sirius. And then-" Hermione wasn't exactly sure how best to help Harry, but Sirius was a good start. She didn't have much idea of what to do with Ginny, either, other than just _be_ there. "- you can help me work out what you need."

"I told you I'm fine," Ginny said, rather sharply.

"I'm just trying to help," Hermione said, matching her tone.

"Shut up," Ginny muttered, and then, sighed. "Not you," she said, both apologetic and defensive all at once. "Sorry. I- Can you put the lid on?" Her eyes flashed and flickered to the side, as if listening to something Hermione couldn't hear. Then, through gritted teeth she added: " _Please_." She very carefully did not look at the box, but Hermione did, slapping the lid onto it without hesitation.

"Better?" Hermione asked. Ginny gave a curt nod. "Good. Now: inside?"

"It's better out here," Ginny said, sounding slightly more normal. She glanced at Harry, apparently remembering him, then reached out to poke his foot with her own. "You with us?" She was clearly making an effort to sound gruff, but her voice wavered slightly. "Harry?"

Harry made a quiet sound that might have been acknowledgement or might have been a noise he'd have made regardless of whether Ginny spoke.

"Clearly not," Ginny said, expression tightening. "Has he got his mirror?"

He did, and Hermione managed to free it from his pocket without getting zapped again, cross with herself for not having thought of that already.

"Sirius Black," she said, and he answered immediately.

"Hermione?" His voice sharpened. "Where's-?"

"You should to Floo to Hagrid's," she said, as calmly as she could, and just like that he was up and moving; she could tell, because everything behind him blurred. "Harry's- upset and a bit… out of it." She was pleased how even her voice stayed. "We're on the grounds, by the lake. Ginny and I are with him, but…" But Hermione was a bit out of her depth and not convinced Ginny was doing well, so...

"I'm on my way," he said, voice firm but reassuring, "and I'll send Moon- Remus ahead." And then he was gone and Hermione set the mirror down atop the box, then shuffled over to put and arm around Ginny. Ginny went stiff for a moment, then sighed and relaxed, resting her head against Hermione's shoulder.

"Thanks," she said, so quietly she was barely audible, and Hermione gave her a squeeze.

Harry blinked and let out a ragged breath a few moments later. Hermione was thrown by his silence; usually he launched into an explanation, or a theory, or questions. This time his expression was shuttered and he was still too still. She wondered what he'd seen.

"Harry?" she said gently, and he seemed to hesitate, then nodded as if agreeing, then looked away. She saw his eyes land on Ginny, and then on his mirror, shining silver atop the box. "Sirius is on his way," she said, before he could ask. "And Remus."

Harry let out a gusty breath.

Remus emerged out the front door of the school only a few moments later and moved as quickly across the grounds as he could without running.

Harry watched him, expression a strange mix of relief and resignation.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked.

"Alive," Harry replied. Ginny shifted under Hermione's arm, then, gently, shrugged her off. "You?"

"Not quite that bad," she said, and took a deep breath, "but I've been better."

"Sorry for scaring you" Harry said, looking at Hermione now. "And hurting you."

"It'll heal," Hermione said, glancing down at the red mark on her hand. Truthfully, she'd already forgotten about it.

Remus reached them then, with a cautious greeting and even more cautious eyes that flicked from Harry to Hermione to Ginny to the box. He crouched down beside Harry and put a hand on his shoulder, apparently looking him over. His first question was not about how Harry was though, but:

"What's that?"

"A present," Harry said, tone flat. Remus looked at Harry, apparently after permission, and Harry gave a curt nod. Remus cast several quick, silent charms on the box. He returned Harry's mirror, then pulled the lid up almost hesitantly, frowned, glanced at Harry, then back at the box, and then slowly lowered the lid.

"I see," he said, lips pressed together in a way that reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall. Then, he glanced over toward Hagrid's hut, probably checking for Sirius, and, when Sirius did not appear, moved closer to Harry again.

"Padfoot's on his way," he said. Harry nodded again, and Remus turned to Hermione and Ginny, a kind expression on his face. "Are you two all right?" He wanted an answer from Ginny more than Hermione, if the way his eyes rested on her was any indication. Hermione thoroughly approved; Ginny wouldn't be able to get away with lying to Remus, not with his nose.

She could, though, as it turned out, find a way to get around it; she didn't answer verbally at all, just shrugged and gave a vague nod, eyes on Harry.

"Padfoot's coming," Harry announced a moment later, and Hermione turned to see Sirius crossing Hagrid's garden at a jog. He reached them much more quickly than Remus had, eyes flicking over them - presumably taking in the lack of obvious injuries - then crouched down beside Harry. Remus kept ahold of the box, but didn't immediately open it to show Sirius.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" he asked. Harry didn't say anything, but his mouth turned down. That scared Hermione, more than anything else had that morning, because Harry was always quick to update Sirius when something had happened. Was he scared to? Or embarrassed? Both Sirius and Remus must have been thinking along the same lines, because they glanced at Harry and then at Hermione and Ginny, and then at each other.

"Maybe not here?" Sirius said. Remus nodded in agreement, giving the box an awkward pat. Sirius glanced at it.

"Somewhere private might be best," Remus said, and Hermione realised he was worried about how Sirius might respond to its contents, or, perhaps, worried about how Harry might react to its contents now that he had Sirius there. "Your office?"

"Shack's closer," Sirius said. Remus shrugged and nodded, getting to his feet. "Come on, kiddo."

Harry stood, movements almost mechanical.

"Would you like me to take you back up to the school?" Remus asked. Hermione glanced at Ginny who shook her head.

"No, thank you," Hermione said. "We'll be all right here. See you later, Harry."

"Yeah," he said, and Remus and Sirius exchanged another look. "See you."

* * *

"Goodness," Remus said, looking around the Shack with an expression that might have been fond if it wasn't so troubled on Harry's behalf, "but it's been a long time since we were here."

"A few years," Sirius agreed, eyes on his godson, who had followed them in and was looking at the Shack's clean floor with no surprise whatsoever. He had to be able to smell the werewolf all over the place and - even with his eyesight - shouldn't have been able to miss the pale fur littering the floorboards. _Sirius_ knew two of the kids from the camp that had formerly been Greyback's spent moons here, but he hadn't realised Harry was in on the secret. That, though, was a conversation for another time. "Last time would've been… when? Harry's first year?"

"It was already in use," Remus said. "We stuck to the forest, or used my cottage. The last time…" His eyes flicked to Harry, though he didn't elaborate. As it turned out, he didn't need to:

"The last time would have been the time I ran away," Harry said, swallowing. "The Christmas before they made you an Auror again, after I saw my scar in the mirror and thought..."

"That's right," Sirius said, remembering a much dustier Shack, his panic for Harry's safety - stronger then, or perhaps just not as familiar to him as it had become in the years since - and Harry himself, smaller, dustier, but equally in crisis; he had better control of himself now than he had, then, and Sirius wondered if crises had become as equally familiar to Harry as panic had to Sirius. "You were hiding under the bed upstairs." Sirius attempted a grin. "I made you write lines as punishment - _I am not evil or dangerous and should not have run away and scared poor, frail Moony or my dear, brilliant godfather Padfoot._ Remember?" Remus' mouth twitched ever so slightly, but Harry's expression remained shuttered. "I reckon that's as good a place to start as any," he continued lightly, because the look Harry had about him was similar to the one he'd worn back then.

"I didn't run away," Harry said. "Coming here was _your_ idea."

"I think this might be a better place to start," Remus said, offering Sirius the mysterious box he'd brought along. Sirius took it, figuring between them Harry and Remus would either have removed or triggered any nasty magic that might have been on it.

"May I?" he asked, pausing with a finger hooked under the box's lid.

"Go for it," Harry replied, the corners of his mouth turning down.

Sirius pulled the lid off and set it on the arm of the maimed couch. A piece of heavy parchment bore the Walpurgis crest; a skull with a gaping mouth, inside which the slitted eyes and forked tongue of a snake could be seen. It was what the Dark Mark might look like if it were frozen in the sky moments after being cast, before the snake could fully emerge… The promise of a Dark Mark, perhaps - the promise of death - and it rested both on the note - _For my Champion_ \- and on the black fabric beneath.

Sirius set the box and note down and pulled the bundle of fabric out for a closer look; it was a set of black robes, plain and simply cut, but for the silver-stitched Walpurgis crest - on the left side, Sirius noticed, where it would sit over the wearer's heart - and the unusual inclusion of a hood. Resting at the bottom of the box beneath the robes, was a quilted duelling vest made of black dragonhide. Both were, Sirius noticed, exceptionally well made.

"My uniform," Harry said, jaw set, and voice hard and brittle as broken glass. Sirius didn't blame him; it was a Death Eater's uniform, minus the half-skull mask. "His _Champion's_ uniform." The silence was so heavy it was making Sirius' chest tight. He was desperate to break it but didn't know what to say. In the end, Harry beat him to it:

"I dreamed about this, you know." He stepped forward to point at the Walpurgis crest, eyes distant, voice quiet, and almost eerily matter of fact. "I dreamed I tried to cast a patronus and got this instead, but the snake was further out, and the whole thing was green, not silver."

Sirius caught Remus' eye, stricken.

"When was this?" he asked, and tried not to sound too strangled.

"Last night," Harry said. "I couldn't remember seeing it before, but I knew it. Now I know why."

"It's the Dark Mark," Remus said hesitantly. He flicked a glance in Sirius' direction - seeking forgiveness rather than permission - and Sirius lifted his shoulder in a resigned shrug; if Remus hadn't said it, Sirius would have.

"Oh." Harry's voice didn't change, but Sirius knew he was piecing things together; he'd never seen a Dark Mark - at least not as far as Sirius knew - but he was familiar with the idea of them. Harry worked his jaw, then swallowed, and Sirius wondered if he was associating the patch on the robes with the tattoo Death Eaters were branded with, or the sign they cast into the sky to announce a death.

"We'll get you a new uniform," Sirius said, tossing the robes and vest down in the general direction of the box. "Burn those, and get you something in red and gold, or- whatever colour you want. Who's going to know?"

"You won't be able to burn dragonhide easily," Remus pointed out, but Sirius could tell from the resignation in his voice that he wholly agreed with the sentiment.

"Watch me," Sirius muttered.

"He'd just send another set," Harry said dully. "And probably directly to Sprottle or Bagman or someone to make sure I wore it." Sirius had the rather absurd mental image of Voldemort owning an entire wardrobe filled with identical, Harry-sized robes and vests to use as back-ups. He shook his head to clear it.

"Sprottle and Bagman aren't going to dress you." They'd answer to him if they tried.

"Aren't they?" Harry asked, eyes still on the robes and vest. He glanced up at Sirius, expression tired. "You don't think Cedric'll compete in Hogwarts robes, or that Karkaroff'll want make sure everyone knows Krum's his?" Sirius was silent, then glanced at Remus.

"Madame Maxime had male and female competitors' garb designed before we came over," Remus sighed.

"I expect Hogwarts and Durmstrang will have something similar. Still, it might not be a rule, per se…"

"Everything else has been," Harry muttered. He had a point there. For a moment, Sirius could only stand there, staring at the finely made robes and vest, and skin crawling with horror and fury, gut twisting with helplessness. Then, he forced himself to get it together, because Harry needed him to.

"Fine," Sirius said. "So you wear them." His voice came out louder than he'd intended. "I wore Azkaban robes for years." Remus and Harry both looked at him like he was mad. "Years and years," Sirius said, clearing his throat. "And people looked at them, at me, and thought I was Voldemort's most loyal servant." Remus' shoulders hunched slightly, still carrying the guilt of that all these years later, though Sirius had long since forgiven him, and been forgiven by Remus in turn. " _Not_ the point I was trying to make," Sirius said, rolling his eyes, and got a wry quirk of the mouth in response. "The _point_ is a uniform doesn't make a person. Harry Potter, Walpurgis Champion, is as empty a title as Sirius Black, mass-murderer." Remus smiled at that. Harry did not.

"Titles are important," Harry said, mouth turning down. Sirius exchanged a baffled look with Remus.

"Since when have you cared about titles?" Sirius asked. "You call Voldemort Voldemort-"

"I care because _he_ cares," Harry said, and for the first time, agitation broke through his rather eerie calm. "Voldemort- he- this matters to him, so it- it _matters_."

"It only matters if you let it-"

"Of course I'm letting it!" Harry burst. "This- He's shaped my entire past, he's constantly popping up in my present and there is _nothing_ certain about my future except for him and the prophecy!" Sirius felt like he'd been slapped, but rather than a warm sting, he felt a deep cold that reminded him a bit of Azkaban. "It's not enough that he took my parents, not enough that he left me with this-" He made a jerky, aborted gesture toward his scar. "-not enough that he's tried to take you too, and my friends, and had a few more goes at me while he's been at it. He's in my head and it's deliberate now! He's been testing me, and he knows I know about the dragon in the first task, and he's _enjoying_ this. He's _happy_ right now, because he knows I'm not! And even that's still not enough for him, being in my head, no, he's got to be on _every other part_ of me too." He flung a hand toward the Walpurgis uniform.

Harry had said a lot of very important things just then, things that they would need to sit and talk about - like how exactly Voldemort was testing Harry, and how he knew that Harry knew about the dragon - but those things could wait. Those conversations weren't what Harry needed right now. What Harry needed was to know:

"That doesn't make you his." Sirius looked to Remus for support, but Remus was frowning and moving toward the door that led to the tunnel. "Do you remember after my trial," Sirius said, "you were telling me how you didn't have to introduce yourself to anyone? And I told you it didn't matter, because they didn't know _you_. They knew Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Disappeared… Or they thought they did. This is the same. But just like then, the people that matter - me, and Moony-" Remus looked over at his name, but then went back to staring at whatever it was in the tunnel that had caught his interest. "-and now Dora and Stella, and Marlene, and Ron and Hermione and Draco and Ginny… we'll know otherwise." Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder and used it to tug him into a sideways hug. "You'll be his Champion because you don't have a choice, but that doesn't make you _his_. You're ours, kiddo. Ugly robes and all." Harry didn't disagree out loud, but he was silent. "Harry," Sirius said, as sternly as he dared.

"Wearing his robes and doing what he wants, competing under his name… sounds a lot like that makes me his."

"Not willingly," Sirius said.

"Even better," Harry said darkly. He glanced at Sirius, then at Remus, and sighed. "I- look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, I do, but you don't... get it." Sirius didn't know what to say to that; he wanted to ask more questions, or keep trying to convince Harry to see his side of things, but he thought that would only serve to make Harry's point. So, he tugged him closer and said nothing. Harry's arms tightened around him.

Peripherally, he saw Remus move and then there were soft noises the tunnel; whatever Remus had been so interested in before, Sirius was sure. Harry's head turned that way as well and Sirius released him, listening carefully and trying to pick the footsteps. He couldn't, but neither Remus - who could see whoever it was - or Harry - who smelled of recognition - seemed worried, so he could only assume it was Harry's friends.

Sure enough, Ron poked his head through, followed by Draco, Ginny, and Hermione. Hermione and Draco both looked guilty, but Ron seemed perfectly at ease, and Ginny looked almost defiant.

"Sorry," Hermione said, looking at Harry first, then at Sirius and Remus. "We wanted to make sure you were all right, we weren't trying to listen in-" Draco nodded his agreement.

"Couldn't help it, though," Ron said, somehow managing to come across as tactfully unapologetic. "Door was open and you weren't really whispering, mate." Harry rubbed a hand over his face and laughed tiredly. Ron grinned, but it was cautious. "We didn't mean to interrupt, though."

"It's all right, Ron," Remus said. "It's actually good timing, I think. Come on, Padfoot." Remus tilted his head towards the tunnel. Sirius frowned at him. "He's in good hands." This was said quietly so that only Sirius, and maybe Harry - who had Ron's arm flung over his shoulders now and Hermione holding his hand - would be able to hear it.

He _was_ in good hands with his friends - they were to Harry what the Marauders had been to him on his bad days - but that didn't stop Sirius from feeling like he ought to stay, ought to keep trying to help.

"We've done what we can for now," Remus said. "Pulled him out of his head a bit. Let them see what they can manage." Sirius let out a breath and went to join him at the door. He caught Harry's eye and patted his pocket, letting him know he had his mirror. Harry nodded and while he wasn't quite smiling, his expression was grateful.

It was silent but comfortable in the tunnel between him and Remus, until they rounded the final bend and could see the little circle of daylight that was the passage at the Whomping Willow's roots, and Sirius heard himself say: "I miss the days where I could tell him things were going to be okay, or not to worry, and he'd just… believe me, because I was an adult and I said so." Unfortunately, Harry had learned the hard way that he couldn't.

"You've raised him better than that," Remus said. "It's… hard to watch on days like today where we'd like nothing better than to take a bit of weight off his shoulders, but the rest of the time, that bit of doubt or stubbornness, or pessimism, or whatever you want to call it-"

"Realism?" Sirius suggested gloomily.

"-has probably done a lot more good than harm. It's almost certainly saved his life at some point."

"Stop being reasonable," Sirius grumbled, but had to agree. He glanced back in the direction they'd come. "D'you reckon he's all right?"

"Probably not just yet," Remus said. "But he will be."

They lapsed back into silence as they clambered out at the Willow's roots - safely, thanks to a well-placed spell of Sirius' that hit the knot and froze the flailing branches.

"You know," Remus mused, "I think this might be one of the only times I've managed to walk out of this tunnel of my own volition."

"Huh," Sirius said, seeing through Remus' attempt to initiate a more normal conversation, and allowing it. "It's Thursday after next, right?"

"It is," Remus said, glancing up at the sky. Though the morning was overcast, Sirius felt sure that if the clouds parted right where Remus was looking, they'd be able to see the faint moon. "Does that suit you?"

"Actually," Sirius said, pretending to think about it, "the Wednesday would be better, so if you can just delay it…" Remus snorted and Sirius smiled, amused. "I'll be there." Remus smiled, then looked thoughtful:

"Just you?"

"Who else- Oh." Sirius cocked his head and Remus shrugged. "Yeah?"

"He's big enough to handle himself now, and he might like the distraction, what with everything else that's going on. As long as you're all right with it, of course."

"He'll be happy with that," Sirius said, smiling. Remus smiled back. It wasn't a fix to Harry's problems, and it wasn't going to do anything to help them _get it_ \- whatever the _it_ was that meant Harry refused to be comforted about this whole uniform situation - but Remus was right that it would be a good distraction.

The front doors opened, then, and Snape stepped out, carrying a basket of jars and boxes. He spotted Sirius and Remus, nodded stiffly, and then set off around the lake. Sirius watched him for a moment, mind churning, then looked at Remus:

"Coming?"

"Ah… no," Remus said, eyeing Snape. While they tolerated each other, Remus' relationship with Snape had not made the same progress as Sirius' had over the years. "Enjoy, though."

"I'll see you later?"

"I'm having lunch with Matt in Hogsmeade," Remus said, "so likely this afternoon."

Sirius nodded and they parted ways, Remus heading back toward the Beauxbatons carriage, and him trailing Snape across the grounds.

When he caught up, Snape was crouching in the lake's muddy shallows, clipping the slimy leaves off some sort of water plant.

"Yes?" he drawled, without looking up.

"Morning," Sirius said, finding a flat rock to perch on. "What are you collecting?"

"Hornwort," Snape said.

"What for?"

"Dispense with the niceties, Black," Snape said, though not nastily. "What do you want?"

"To understand," Sirius said, and then paused, trying to work out how to word things.

"Having spent breakfast beside the Headmaster, I have little tolerance for crypticism this morning," Snape said, still without bothering to look up. The small, silver scissors in his hand snipped away at the hornwort with incredible precision. "Whatever it is, spit it out."

"Voldemort-" Snape hissed at the name, or perhaps at the little stalk he'd just mutilated when his hand spasmed. "-sent Harry a uniform to wear in the Tournament. Death Eater robes."

"The boy?" Snape asked, after several long moments that left him with a dark look on his face.

"What about him?" Sirius asked. Snape's expression twitched with irritation, but - albeit unwillingly - he added:

"Is he… coping?"

"Sort of," Sirius said, trying not to show outwardly that he was touched by Snape asking; Snape had mellowed significantly as the term had dragged on - something Sirius attributed entirely to a much-improved relationship with Draco - but probably not so much that he'd be happy to have anyone acknowledge his concern for Harry.

"Unsurprising," Snape said.

"You think it's a big deal too, then?" Sirius asked.

"You _don't_?" Snape turned to him then, expression uncharacteristically open in its incredulity.

"I do," Sirius said defensively, then sighed. "But apparently not as much as Harry, or you."

"So have the boy explain," Snape said, turning back to his work.

"He tried, and then said I didn't get it," Sirius said. "And I didn't want to push him."

"So you've come to push me instead," Snape surmised. "What makes you think I can explain it any better than he did? Or that I'd be willing to?"

"Harry runs on the assumption that I'm smart enough to understand things. You, on the other hand, think I'm an idiot so you'll break it down and use simple words." Sirius grinned, and though Snape's expression was impassive, Sirius could smell a faint current of amusement. "As for being willing to, I'm sure you'd rather not." He was equally sure that Snape _would_ , despite not wanting to, but rather than wait for Snape to find some way that he could justify helping Sirius and Harry, Sirius decided to - pleasantly - force his hand. "But I figure you owe Harry for the end of last year, and that spell you told him to use against Peter. An explanation doesn't fix that, but me understanding'll maybe go a ways toward fixing _this_ , so..."

"There's no fix," Snape grunted.

"Even so." Snape looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but instead set aside his scissors and his jar and waded out of the water, drying himself with a flick of his wand. Sirius waited expectantly.

"The Dark Lord is playing a very deliberate game," Snape said. Sirius gave him a flat look; he'd been joking when he said he expected Snape to treat him like an idiot. It did not escape his notice that Harry had used the same word - deliberate - to describe Voldemort's actions earlier, though. "Entering the boy was deliberate, obviously, but the way he's gone about it is even more so. He could have tampered with the Goblet to ensure the boy was chosen to represent Hogwarts rather than a fourth school. Or, he could have used the fourth school but with a name far less conspicuous than Walpurgis, or under a headmaster with either a false name, or one far harder to track back to his own." Snape had clearly been talking to Draco or Dumbledore. "Instead, he's _claimed_ Potter, and in doing so ensured Potter knows exactly who he's competing under-"

"He would have even if he'd been entered under Hogwarts, or with a fake headmaster," Sirius said.

"Yes," Snape said. "And you would know, and the Headmaster, and a few others, but no one else. Admittedly, the general public are probably oblivious enough to miss it even now, and most Death Eaters are unaware of the significance of the name _Tom Riddle,_ but they know of the Knights of Walpurgis. Combine that with the uniform, and even the Dark Lord's dimmest, and furthest removed followers can't fail to work out who's put Potter into the Tournament." Snape eased himself down onto a rock near Sirius, and massaged the stump of his leg. He stretched it out, scowled at a bit of pond weed that had stuck to the polished wood of his fake foot and sent it whizzing away with a flick of his wand.

"The boy has a reputation," Snape continued, tucking his wand away again. "I'm sure you you don't need me to go into details there..." But he trailed off, voice snide and expression seemingly not quite convinced that Sirius _wasn't_ dense enough to need him to explain further. Once, that would have got right under Sirius' skin and had him itching to say something equally snide in return. Now, Sirius only rolled his eyes and gestured for Snape to continue.

"That reputation is such that there are those that have refrained from taking up the mask again - even after the World Cup - for fear that they'll be joining the losing side. Similarly, there are those whose loyalty the Dark Lord is unconvinced of and so he has not yet reached out to." His expression didn't change, but his scent spiked with a mix of worry and frustration. Sirius took that to mean he was one of them. "Those same people will now watch Potter compete in an arena of the Dark Lord's choosing. If Potter embarrasses himself, or is simply far outranked by the skill of the others, it will be a humiliation at the Dark Lord's hand. If he is able to wield his luck as he usually does, and back it up with any of his own ability, it will be demonstrative of the fact that the Dark Lord has power over him despite that." Snape sneered at Sirius, perhaps out of habit, or perhaps just to ensure Sirius didn't take his helpfulness - and he was being helpful, surprisingly so - as a gesture of any sort of friendship. "Following so far?"

"Only just," Sirius said, as dopily as he could manage. Snape snorted. "All joke aside, though," Sirius said, "while it's an interesting perspective to consider..." He hesitated, trying to work out how best to say what he needed to without offending Snape too badly.

"What?" Snape asked impatiently.

"I'm just... not sure how relevant it is to Harry," Sirius said, trying not to cringe at the way Snape's eyes narrowed. "I don't really think he's bothered by what Death Eaters think of him." It had been Voldemort's opinion he'd seemed bothered with.

"Perhaps not," Snape said, curtly. "But the Dark Lord is mindful of what his Death Eaters think, and will consider this a victory as a result. Potter may care about _that_." Sirius nodded - _I care because he cares_ , Harry had said earlier - then frowned:

"I've never been under the impression Voldemort cared what his Death Eaters think." Snape twitched at the name.

" _The Dark Lord_ ," he said, pointedly, through gritted teeth and Sirius waved a hand in insincere apology, "works hard to shape his image to ensure he is seen as mysterious and powerful and cunning enough to be impressive and trusted to lead, while also ensuring he generates enough fear to keep his followers loyal. Outward perception is everything; it's why he renounced his birth name and took up his current title."

"I thought he was just embarrassed about his muggle heritage," Sirius said.

"Are the two mutually exclusive?" Snape asked silkily. Sirius frowned again. When Snape spoke again, his voice was brisk: "The Dark Lord is using Potter as a way to prove his own power and reach. More than that, it's symbolic; historically, a Champion was one person that fought on behalf of another - sometimes on behalf of someone unable to fight themselves, other times a Champion would be a _knight-_ " Snape gave Sirius a significant, rather patronising look, clearly wanting to be certain he'd made the connection between Champions and the Knights of Walpurgis. " _-_ chosen to represent the interests of someone in power. Kings, usually. So, in the Tournament, Potter will fight Dumbledore's Champion - and therefore Dumbledore himself - on the Dark Lord's behalf." Sirius felt a little ill.

"I- I don't think Harry thinks like that," Sirius said, but with less conviction than he would have liked. Snape arched an eyebrow. "I mean, not symbolically, or-"

"But the Dark Lord does-" Snape said. He stood from his rock, collected his jars and waded back out into the lake, with his back to Sirius, a sure sign that he was done with the conversation. "-and Potter knows the Dark Lord's mind."

 _Wearing his robes and doing what he wants, competing under his name… sounds a lot like that makes me his,_ Harry had said, and finally, Sirius understood.


	21. To Be Prepared

"You didn't have to come and find me," Harry said. The arm Ron had slung over his shoulders tightened, looking to Ginny like it was as much a headlock as a gesture of comfort, but Harry didn't seem to mind; for all the words sounded like a protest, there was something in his tone and in his fond expression that made it clear there was an unspoken _but I'm glad you did_ at the end of it. Hermione had obviously heard it too; she paused in her curious, somewhat grim examination of the Shack to smile warmly at Harry. Draco - who had gone to paw through the box with a look of trepidation - just rolled his eyes, as if offended Harry could think they wouldn't have come. For her part, Ginny was glad they had; she'd managed to get herself back under control in the last little while, while - if what they'd overheard was any indication - it seemed Harry had only got himself more worked up.

"'Course we did," Ron said, then appeared have a proper look around. "Blimey, this place looks a lot like Wormtail's bit of the Room, doesn't it?" Hermione, still grim-faced, nodded without looking away from the boarded windows. Draco glanced her way, not quite concerned, but rather trying to work out if he ought to be. His gaze moved to Ron a moment later.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking stricken. "We can go back up to the-"

"It wasn't a hint, mate," Ron said. He released Harry with a pat on the shoulder and went to join Hermione at the window. Ginny saw him lean into her, and saw Hermione lean into him a moment later. Ron turned to look at Harry over his shoulder. "Just trying to make conversation without bringing up… You know."

"I think we _should_ talk about it," Ginny said.

"Only if Harry wants to," Hermione said.

"Seemed like he had a fair bit to say to Black and Lupin," Draco muttered, and Hermione shot him a chiding look.

"You heard the gist of it," Harry said, not looking sure if he wanted to laugh or be annoyed. "I don't think there's much point going over it all again."

"You said they didn't understand?" Hermione offered, hesitant. Harry didn't say anything, but he let out a breath and his mouth turned down. "We might?"

"I- don't think you can," Harry said. Ginny's eyes narrowed. "It's not- I don't think I can explain it any better than I did, and even if I could I don't know if you'd _get_ it." The look he gave Hermione was miserable and almost apologetic, and she swallowed and gave a small nod in return. Draco looked troubled, and Ron was silent, eyes sad.

"No?" Ginny asked. The word came out sharp - and not unintentionally so - and Ron, Hermione, and Draco all gave her wary looks, but Harry didn't seem bothered by it.

"Maybe you," Harry said, and the look he gave her was their usual one of understanding and commiseration. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw the other three take a sudden interest in their surroundings; they'd be listening, but were making a token effort not to look like they were.

"Maybe?" Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow.

"As much as anyone _can,"_ he said, and it sounded more martyred than placating. Ginny folded her arms, unimpressed.

"You're including yourself in that _anyone_ , right?" She knew he wasn't, and he knew she knew that; he looked away, shoulders hunching. "Harry." She reached for his arm and tugged him back around to face her. He gave her a grim look and shook her off. "Go on," she said, letting him. "What don't we understand? What can't _I_ understand?"

"You just- it's not the same, all right? You get it better than anyone can, but you can't know… this." He waved a hand that seemed to encompass himself and the box.

"The only thing I know is that you couldn't make Sirius understand and so now you're feeling sorry for yourself and assuming that no one else can."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Harry grumbled.

"Aren't you?" She lifted her chin; she didn't want to pick a fight with him, not _really,_ but she'd had anger bubbling inside her since she'd seen Tom's handwriting - not because of it, but because she still hadn't been able to stop the sight of it from affecting her - and it felt _good_ to stop trying to choke it down and instead just let it out. "Because it certainly sounds like it and-"

"Maybe I am, then," Harry snapped, before she could finish: _having been there, I wouldn't blame you._ "Because he's _using_ me-"

"Mmm," Ginny said, "wonder what that's like."

Ginny had never had Harry's anger directed at her before, but it was now; his eyes flashed and his voice took on a hard edge.

"He's not just using me because I'm there and convenient," Harry said. That stung, and she was sure he knew it. She doubted he knew that it set Tom off though, set him to laughing and murmuring that yes, she had been incredibly _convenient_.

 _Until I wasn't and you lost_ , Ginny retorted. Ginny saw the others shift anxiously, not even pretending not to listen now, and perhaps trying to decide whether they ought to do something.

"This is deliberate, and planned. He's _claiming_ me, he's controlling my title, my mind, my dreams, my _clothes_ , where I go, and he's doing it to make a point and because he can." Harry's jaw clenched. "It's different." His expression all but _dared_ Ginny to argue.

"I suppose," Ginny said coolly. The others winced at her tone. Harry just watched her. "For one, you've actually got control of yourself, even if he _is_ in your head. He might be forcing you into clothes and tournaments, but at least he's not wearing _you._ So yes, I think you might be right. It's very different." Ginny glowered at Harry who scowled back.

"You've had worse, so I should just get over it, is that your point?" Harry asked darkly.

"Harry," Hermione said nervously, "I'm sure Ginny only meant-"

"No, my point is you're not the only one, so you should just get over yourself-"

" _Ginny!"_ Hermione moaned. Ron looked horrified and Draco looked stunned.

"- because the longer you stand there feeling sorry for yourself and like no one understands, the more he'll feel like he's won." Harry looked grim rather than angry now and rather than settle her down, that only incensed her; her next words came out harsh and loud: "It's awful what he's doing and what he's planning, but you're not alone. Not in feeling like this, or in being used. Not at all. And even if people don't understand perfectly, you're still not alone because they'll be looking out for you anyway." She paused to scowl up at him. "As long as you're not _stupid_ enough to push-" She shoved him, softer than she felt like, but harder than was strictly friendly and Harry, unprepared for it, stumbled back a few steps, blinking in surprise. She felt a mean little curl of satisfaction, even as Hermione made a shocked sound and Ron let out a disbelieving "Ginny!". "-them all away!"

"Stop it!" Hermione said. "We have enough problems right now without you two shouting at each other!" Ginny thought she'd have put herself between them, except Ron caugh her arm and kept her where she was, shaking his head. When he looked at Ginny, red-eared, it was clear from the look on his face that he thought she'd gone too far; she'd thrown her ingredients into the cauldron and Ron was leaving her to deal with any explosions herself. He thought she'd overstepped, and if _Ron_ thought so, she probably had, had let her frustration and anger get the better of her, had gone past brutal honesty and just been brutal. That, more than Hermione's obvious displeasure, and Draco's wary, darting eyes, sent the anger flooding out of Ginny so quickly that she was left feeling cold and empty.

"Harry," she said hoarsely, "I-"

"Guess I should be grateful my friends aren't stupid enough to let me be stupid," Harry said, and his hand jumped up to mess with his hair almost sheepishly.

"I-" Ginny blinked and then tried to look and sound unsurprised. "Yes. You should be." Harry cracked a grin and then he was hugging her.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Sorry I pushed you," she mumbled.

"I probably needed it," he said, releasing her with a shrug. The corners of his mouth turned down. "Sorry about the- convenient-"

"It's all right."

"You're perfectly entitled to be upset, Harry," Hermione said, and gave Ginny a sharp look that warned her against disagreeing. "And you don't _have_ to explain yourself; Ginny's right, even if she could have said it differently; we're with you, regardless."

"What Hermione said," Ron said. Draco nodded.

"Yeah," he said, voice sounding a bit thick, and Hermione's expression wavered. She threw her arms around him, and rather than look embarrassed, Harry's arms tightened over her shoulders.

"Now look, Granger," Draco said, "you've upset him."

" _I've-"_ Hermione wriggled free of Harry to glare at Draco, who sniggered. She huffed, pulling a face and Harry laughed. Draco looked rather pleased with himself. "So what now?" she asked, glancing back at Harry.

"Try not to die, I s'pose," Harry said.

"The usual, then," Draco sighed.

"Except this time we know what you're up against," Hermione said, "and we can make sure you're ready." She looked up at Harry, who smiled gratefully.

"Reckon I know just the place to do that, too," Ron said, his overly casual tone doing little to hide how pleased with himself he suddenly was. The other three's head whipped around to look at him, apparently understanding some significance to that statement that Ginny did not.

"Really?" Draco looked impressed.

"You figured it out?" Hermione's eyes were bright and interested.

"This morning," Ron said.

"Brilliant," Harry said.

"How?" Hermione wanted to know. "Did you-"

"Figured what out?" Ginny asked, feeling very left out.

"The Room," Ron said.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Remus asked, and Madame Maxime waved him into a golden chair with a soft cushion made of pale blue velvet.

"Sit," she said in French. Remus did.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, only half-joking; there was something in her scent and the fierce glint in her eyes that made him think it was entirely possible.

"I haven't decided yet," she replied, frowning at him. She clasped her ringed fingers together under her chin and surveyed him over the top while he sat silently and did his best not to fidget. "You knew," she said at last. "You knew the boy would be entered, that is why you were so adamant about coming to Hogwarts this year."

"Ah," Remus said, wincing slightly.

"I am not so cruel as to begrudge you your concern for your nephew-" Remus opened his mouth to correct her, then decided it didn't much matter, and shut it again. "-but I brought you here to support my students during the Tournament. This place is foreign to them, and far from their homes and families, and if they cannot be your first priority, then for their sakes, I think I need to bring in someone else."

"I have no intention of neglecting our students," Remus said, and sighed. "And I didn't know Harry would wind up _in_ the Tournament. We only knew that Voldemort had an interest in it, was planning _something_ around it. It… it _was_ a big part of why I asked to come, but that it was based here rather than in France was another big factor, and I told you _that_ from the beginning."

"You did." Madame Maxime twisted one of her rings around, clearly thinking. "You maintain that the boy is an unwilling entrant, then?"

"Yes," Remus said, voice coming out more terse than he'd intended. Madame Maxime nodded, easy in her acceptance, and Remus lowered invisible hackles.

"And you realise that unwilling or not, he will be made to compete. Hogwarts may be gentle with him, but Durmstrang will not be, and neither will Fleur."

"She told him herself last night," Remus said, with tired amusement.

"Good," Madame Maxime said, unapologetic. "The boy's circumstances are unfortunate, and you may pass on my sympathies to him and assure him we hold no animosity toward him-" Remus thought of the way Fleur had looked at Harry and wasn't quite convinced. "-but, we are not only here to compete, but to win. I will do everything in my power to support Fleur in this, and as her teacher, it is your job to do the same." She studied him. "Can you, even if it must be at your boy's expense?"

"If it's at _Harry's_ expense, no," Remus said, and Madame Maxime's eyes narrowed, scent betrayed but not entirely surprised. "If it's at the expense of Harry _winning_ the Tournament, then by all means." He waved a hand, and she relaxed.

"You don't want him to win?"

"If he gets out of this alive then he will have won, as far as I'm concerned." And he would make it through. Remus just had to keep telling himself that until he accepted it as the truth.

"And you are certain this Voldemort is behind it?" Remus looked at her, a little surprised she'd said the name, but then considered that, being French, she wouldn't have the same fear of it that British witches nd wizards did.

"Positive," Remus said.

"And is he the only one at risk? What are Voldemort's plans for the other Champions?"

"Much the same as the other Champions' for Harry, I'd imagine," Remus said. "Use them if he can, go through them if they're between him and what he wants."

"Then Fleur is at risk as well," Madame Maxime said.

"It's possible," Remus said, and somehow felt more worried for her, for the _chance_ of her being at risk, than he did _knowing_ Harry was; Fleur had no idea what - or rather who - she was up against.

"Then we must prepare her," Madame Maxime said. " _You_ must prepare her - for Voldemort, as well as for the Tournament." She was right.

"I'll do what I can, but I'm not… really sure how." He picked a bright pink hair off his robes. "The Tournament's easy enough, that's what we've been doing, although last night they said teachers weren't supposed to help." Madame Maxime shrugged one large shoulder, apparently unbothered by that. "But Voldemort…" How did one prepare for Voldemort?

* * *

On Viktor's first night at Hogwarts, Karkaroff had pointed Harry Potter out to some of the Durmstrang contingent as a curiosity, much as he had pointed out the school's Forbidden Forest, Severus Snape, and the Slytherin table. Viktor hadn't been particularly impressed. The boy was lean - Seeker's build, Viktor had noted, though he had no idea if the boy played - but lanky in that still-growing way. He had a small group of friends, but they had sat apart from the rest of his table at the meals Viktor had also attended. He'd pegged Potter and his little group as loners, or actively disliked, and not significant.

But meeting Potter in the antechamber had been enlightening, and Viktor had been forced to revise his opinion; firstly, Potter had been indifferent to both Viktor and the veela girl. A curious thing, but Viktor had thought perhaps he didn't like Quidditch, or women. Then, though, Bagman had made his comments, and Viktor had realised that Potter's name meant a lot more here in Britain than it did at home. When Potter had spoken he'd done so quietly as if expecting to be listened to, and there'd been something about the way he held himself… Viktor had known by the time Bagman dismissed them that, if he was made to compete, Potter would not do so half-heartedly. His parting words to the boy had not been a warning, or a threat, but a prediction that that would not be enough. But, when Potter hadn't thanked him, or even grown defensive, had merely nodded - and not in agreement, but rather acknowledgement - Viktor had had to re-evaluate once again.

Diggory had the advantage of having studied with Potter, so would know what to expect of him. Delacour could charm the boy's life story out of whoever she wanted. Perhaps, if she set her mind to it, she could even have Potter himself talk her through it - she was certainly bold enough. And, failing that, she could ask her teacher, the one that had stood beside Potter and his guardian while they were in the antechamber.

Viktor had no such connections, but he had his fame, and was not above using it to get information; the on the second morning after the Goblet chose the Champions, they were pulled aside before breakfast and told that Potter had been unable to get out of competing.

Viktor had gone on to breakfast at the Slytherin table, where a casual mention of Potter's name resulted in frowns and shrugs and even winces; the reason for that became clear when a pale, pointy faced boy began to rant about how such a spectacle was very much Potter's style, and that Dumbledore adored him enough to let him get away with it, and that he rather hoped a tragic accident might befall Potter and rid them of him, but that he doubted they'd be that lucky.

Other students - ones he spoke to when they came to ask for an autograph, or to congratulate him on being made Champion - had more to say. Some were obvious, even expected for a teenage celebrity:

Potter was weirdly intense, Potter was always getting into trouble, which was why his godfather had joined the staff that year, Potter was dramatic, Potter was was the Boy Who Lived, and Potter wasn't so great.

Others rumours were slightly more interesting:

Potter had once lost fifty house points for being caught out after curfew, Potter was an excellent Seeker, though maybe not as good as Viktor, Potter was the reason they could never have a quiet year at Hogwarts, Potter was lovely, and had once helped a girl find her shoes, Potter talked in his sleep and had been known to have weird episodes in lessons, and Potter was a Parselmouth.

Others were stranger still:

Potter was always running off to meet with Dumbledore or the Aurors, Potter almost died at least three times a year, Potter was friends with werewolves and giants, Potter and his friends had formed a little cult, Potter was an incredible wizard and he was going to win the Tournament, Potter had probably saved everyone in the school several times over without them even knowing about it, Potter was always sticking his nose into something he shouldn't, Potter could resist the Imperius curse, but Potter was also weak and fainted every time he was near a Dementor.

Every single person Viktor spoke to had something to say about him, even those that admitted they didn't know him personally. And, most of them delivered their strange facts with conviction, but when Viktor looked skeptical, shrugged and told him that was what they'd heard, anyway. Viktor had never known anyone to be the object of so many rumours, and he regularly rubbed shoulders with professional athletes.

And so, here he was, holed up in the Hogwarts library at nine in the evening on a Saturday, reading about a fourteen year old boy, in the hopes that a book might be less prone to exaggeration, or at least, more certain about what was fact and what was not. He rubbed his temples and reached for Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.

"Oh!" A bushy haired girl stepped out from between two bookshelves, her arms laden with books and looked at him with surprise. She wore jeans and a soft-looking blue jumper with an H on it - for Hogwarts, perhaps? Viktor sighed, waiting for the parchment and quill to appear, and the stammering to start. It didn't; after a moment, her surprise became curiosity, and then a sort of grudging approval.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

"No," she said. "That's just- I usually sit here, but I'll find somewhere else-" She turned to leave but Viktor grunted and moved his pile aside to make room for her.

"Sit, then," he said.

"I don't want to bother-"

"It's no bother," he said politely, but wasn't yet sure if that would hold true. Hesitantly, she sat.

As it turned out, she was no bother at all; she pulled a book toward her and buried her nose in it, silent but for the regular turning of pages, and the occasional thoughtful hum. Viktor found himself curious, and a little nervous. He cleared his throat.

"This is a good place, away from the rest of them." He nodded back toward the busier part of the library, where he could hear a group of students being told off for making too much noise.

A pair of brown eyes peered over the top of the book.

"That's why I like it," she agreed, and then her attention drifted back to the page. Viktor smiled and returned to his own reading.

After almost an hour, he became aware of her eyes on him, and glanced up. She went pink, seeming flustered that she'd been caught.

"What?" he asked.

"I was just wondering what you were reading," she said. "Sorry."

"Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts," he said. She nodded, and her eyes went to his pile. She had a very expressive face, and he watched her go from curious, to shrewd, to thoughtful.

"I see," she said, in what he thought was a rather loaded tone, and he thought she might.

"He… was not what I expected," Viktor admitted. "It seemed prudent to try to find out about him, given we will be competing."

"What did you expect?"

"Maybe a normal boy, maybe a spoilt one. Maybe a boy still trying to cling to old fame when everyone else has forgotten what he was famous for." Viktor shrugged. "He is not any of those things." The girl absorbed this in silence.

"Have you put this much effort into reading about Cedric and Fleur Delacour?"

"They're not as hard to figure out," he said, and then smiled sheepishly. "They're also not so easy to research." He gestured at the pile beside him and a wry smile tugged at her mouth. The sight of it left him feeling rather pleased with himself. "Perhaps you can tell me about Diggory."

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged, but her smile had faded: "I haven't had much to do with him. He's a Hufflepuff, and he plays-"

"What's a Hufflepuff?" Viktor interrupted. "Someone used that word at breakfast, but when I asked them to explain, they said they were nothing worth talking about." The girl frowned at this.

"Hufflepuff's a Hogwarts House," she said. "Like Slytherin - where you've been sitting?" Viktor found himself oddly pleased that she'd noticed. "Or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

"How are the Houses chosen?" She straightened in her chair.

"Godric Gryffindor - one of the school's founders - enchanted his hat to read the minds of the first year students and work out where they best fit," she said. "We call it the Sorting Hat. Slytherin's for really ambitious students, Gryffindor's for the brave ones, Ravenclaw's for the clever ones, and Hufflepuff's for the hard working ones."

"You're Ravenclaw, then," he said with confidence, and she smiled, seeming both flattered and amused. Again, he found himself rather pleased by that. She wasn't stunning the way Delacour was, but she was pretty, and more than that he liked her bright eyes, the obviously clever mind behind them, and the fact that she was talking to him rather than fawning.

"Gryffindor, actually, but it was a near thing."

"And Potter, he's…?" She narrowed her eyes, all humour gone.

"Gryffindor as well," she said.

"You know him well," he said, looking her over; she was younger than Viktor, but not by much, which surely meant she was a few years older than Potter.

"Quite," she said coolly. He nodded.

"I can count on one hand the number of people who wouldn't tell stories to reporters or other Quidditch teams about me," he said.

"That's horrible," she said, frowning.

"I meant- people like you are hard to find. Potter should be grateful." This time, her expression softened at the mention of Potter. He wondered what she was to him. Merely a friend, or something more? More to the point, what did she consider Potter? While he pondered that, she studied him with suspicious eyes. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said. She was silent for a moment, then nodded, acknowledging that. Viktor cast around for a topic that wasn't Potter, and his eyes landed on the small mountain of books she'd brought with her. "What are you reading?" The book in front of her was some sort of Potions encyclopaedia, but the others in the pile were either spellbooks or about dragons. An odd choice, to say the least.

She was silent for a moment, then opened her mouth, but it wasn't her voice that came out; the librarian swooped in to warn them of the approaching curfew.

The girl stood and gathered her books. It was only once she'd left their table and called a soft, library-appropriate-volume good night to Viktor over her shoulder that he realised he hadn't asked her name.


	22. Playing With Fire

"And you're sure you're all right with this, Moony?" Harry asked, as he trailed Moony and Padfoot across the rapidly darkening grounds. Above them, the moon sat bright and full in the sky, and Harry knew from Moony's ill temper and the increasingly frequent groans and winces that it wouldn't be long now. "Not that I want you to change your mind, but-"

"For the last time, Harry, yes," Moony said irritably. "It was my idea. You're old enough, and I thought you could us a distraction, and - given how much like James and Sirius you seem to be - something to look forward to."

Harry shared a look with Padfoot, who winked. He grinned.

"Ah, yes," Moony said, "look, Sirius - the next generation's just as excited by my pain as you've ever been." He laughed hoarsely at Harry's stricken look, then winced and lengthened his strides. "It's soon."

"We need to be a bit further in," Padfoot said, putting a hand on Moony's back, and using it to shephard him.

"Yes, I _know,_ " Moony grumbled, twisting away. Padfoot glanced behind them, through the thin ranks of trees; they could still see the castle quite clearly. Moony marched forward with grim purpose.

"How'd the wand-weighing go?" Padfoot asked, eyes on Moony as he fell into step beside Harry. Harry's eyebrows rose, and Padfoot must have smelled his surprise. "Cedric was pulled out of my lesson."

"Right. Er… well, my wand's fine," he said. "I- Cedric doesn't know whether to believe me or not, about putting my name in. He wasn't unfriendly, just a bit… I dunno… Confused, maybe?" Just like the rest of the school, really; Harry hadn't been surprised to overhear whispers about how he'd entered himself for the attention and glory, but what did surprise him was that for every one of those there was another overheard whisper to disagree; Padfoot's face when Harry's name came out of the Goblet had not gone unnoticed, nor, apparently, had Harry's behaviour - and that of his friends - since. "Krum mostly kept to himself, and Fleur was… Fleur; got all offended when Rita Skeeter wanted to talk to me instead of her."

"Skeeter was there?" Padfoot asked, voice sharpening. "Doing what?"

"Wanted a photograph of the Champions," Harry said, darkly. "And pulled me aside for a quick interview after." He grimaced.

"You gave her one?" Padfoot's eyebrows shot up.

"Not intentionally," Harry sighed. "I mostly argued with her to start with - said I was underage so I wanted you there, but she said being on my own was good practice for the Tournament, because obviously you're not going to help me compete, and then she sort of- it was a bit like at your trial, you know where they were saying a lot of things but not really letting you answer?" Harry hadn't really had to have much to do with reporters before, because Padfoot usually scared them off, or Harry managed to slip away before it became an issue. Not today. Today, Skeeter had asked about Harry, and how he felt about the Tournament and having to compete against older students, and then she'd asked about Lily and James and Padfoot, and how they'd feel - or in Padfoot's case - _did_ feel about it all. "The interview…. It's probably going to be a disaster, honestly." Padfoot sighed, scent tired and rather angry. "Sorry."

"We'll deal with it if or when we need to," Padfoot said. "And in the meantime, I'll have words with Rita."

"Won't that make it worse?"

"I'd much rather have her after me than after you," Padfoot said. "You've got enough to worry about."

"But-"

"There's a lot I can't fix the way I'd like to be able to," Padfoot said seriously, scent unhappy. "And that's- well." He cleared his throat, eyes back on Moony's progress ahead. "Skeeter I _can_ help you with. Let me." Harry swerved to bump his arm against Padfoot's, grateful, and Padfoot reached out to ruffle his hair and pull him closer for a moment.

After another few minutes of walking, when they were far enough into the forest that there was nothing in sight but the trees, and nothing to hear but the sounds of their footsteps on leaves, Moony stopped.

Harry looked around at the dark trees, thinking of Wormtail because he always did when he was in the forest, but also because, once upon a time, Wormtail had been a part of this, a part of full moons. So had Harry's dad.

Moony stripped off his shirt and trousers, tossing them to Padfoot who shrank them and tucked them into his pocket for safekeeping. Then, Moony gasped and arched back, then hunched over. Harry thought he heard something snap, and winced.

"Time to change," Padfoot said, over his shoulder, and Harry did as he was told. Padfoot blinked, scent - even stronger to Harry's wolf nose - a mix of guilt and nostalgia. Harry cocked his head, and let out a soft whine when Padfoot didn't explain right away. "I just- had a moment where I expected a stag," he said, and Harry padded forward to bump his nose against Padfoot's palm.

Padfoot tugged one of Harry's ears and then shooed him away so he had room to drop down into his dog form. Behind him, Moony began to grow fur, and his groans became whimpers. It looked agonising, and Harry whined again, unhappy this time rather than curious. Padfoot glanced at him, ears briefly going back in acknowledgement, and then went back to watching Moony, who was now more wolf than man and trembling from his transformation.

A few moments later, it was over, and Moony picked himself up off the ground, gave himself a shake, and then seemed to notice them. He went very still, and Harry felt himself go still in response; Moony was tall and lean as a wolf, but also not really a wolf, or at least, not to Harry, who was a genuine wolf. His eyes and tail were wrong and his snout was a bit too short, and there was something else about him, something _different_ that made Harry's wolf side wary, even though he knew it was Moony.

Padfoot trotted forward with a soft bark that Harry knew was a greeting, and Moony gave a brief wag of his tail, then went back to watching Harry. After a moment, Moony took a step forward, then another, almost stalking him.

Harry's hackles went up instinctively when Moony reached him, and he had to force them down. There was nothing human in Moony's eyes, but they were not entirely unfamiliar either. Harry barely breathed as Moony sniffed him, first cautiously and then more seriously. He circled Harry as he did so, with a nervous-smelling Padfoot at his flank, likely ready to intervene if things went poorly. Harry wanted to turn his head to watch, but didn't dare.

When Moony was finally back in front of him, he stood still for a moment, as if considering Harry, then leaned forward and licked him from cheek to ear. Padfoot's scent relaxed, and Harry's tail wagged, even as he lifted a paw to wipe at his wet face.

Then Moony let out a loud, unearthly howl - startling Harry into leaping backward, and making Padfoot snort his amusement - and trotted off into the underbrush. Padfoot howled his approval and followed, leaving Harry to scramble to catch up.

Though the forest was dark and they weren't that far from where Wormtail had sent the forest alight, Harry felt safe, and utterly at home; after all, who could hurt them here? Who would even try to take them on?

Moony ran on long legs, with a near unnatural speed and power, and Padfoot ran just a few steps behind him, clearly used to the brutal pace, and content to let Moony lead (though Harry was under no illusions that Padfoot was the one in charge).

Harry surprised himself with how easily he was able to keep up; he was smaller than they were, still - though nowhere near as small has he had been years ago, when he'd first managed it and been able to walk under Padfoot's shaggy belly - and leaner, and yet, he had the advantage of being utterly at home here.

Being what he was, Moony didn't have a natural habitat, and Padfoot - for all his adventuring - was a creature more made for parks and gardens and the warm spots in front of fireplaces. But Harry - despite admittedly being very partial to the hearth, and also to the sunny patches beneath Grimmauld's windows - was in his element here as much as his human form was on a broomstick; he was quicker than the others, more sure-footed, and quieter. He was utterly at home - a creature of the forest, like he imagined James would have been.

Without breaking stride, Harry threw his head back and howled.

* * *

"Have you slept?" Hermione asked, when they met at the front doors the next morning.

"Not really," Harry said, with a grin. He was exhausted, certainly, but that exhaustion was much more physical than mental. He'd run until his paws ached and his sides were heaving, but for the first time in a long time, he'd had a night where he hadn't been wrapped up in his own head thinking about Voldemort, or - worse yet - actually being Voldemort. It was unbelievably refreshing. Hermione's eyes scanned his face and then she smiled. "What'd you lot get up to last night?" Harry asked, smothering a yawn.

"Draco was with Snape," Hermione said. "Ron and I were together for a bit, but then he disappeared off to the Room, and I went to the library."

"The usual, then," Harry teased. She rolled her eyes at him, then glanced quickly toward the lake and away again, frowning; Krum had just finished his morning swim and was walking back toward the Durmstrang ship, while his usual gaggle of admirers trailed after him. "He's not that bad you know," Harry said, taking a guess at what her issue might be. "Especially given who he's here with." His eyes went to the Durmstrang ship.

"I never said he was!" Hermione protested. Her cheeks were pink, and Harry would have put it down to the cold, except her scent was oddly flustered. Harry grinned at her. "I- I think he's-um-"

"Mornin' you two," Hagrid said, waving at them from beside the large water trough outside his hut. Fang looked up from where he was dozing in the early morning sun.

"Hagrid," Hermione said with obvious relief, and hurried forward.

"How've yeh bin doin'?" Hagrid asked, once he'd released Hermione and turned to pull Harry into one of his usual rib-cracking hugs.

"I'm- all right, I think," Harry said. "Not much I can do about it all except make sure I'm ready..."

"Which is why we're here, actually," Hermione said.

"Oh?" Hagrid scratched his beard, looking surprised but pleased. "Well, can' say I think I'll be a lot o' help to yeh, but I'll do what I can." He stomped over to the door of his hut and pulled it open. Fang bounded inside, and once Harry had sat, promptly shoved his big, drooly head in his lap and gave him an expectant look. Harry scratched behind one of the boarhound's soft ears, and his eyes drifted shut with a doggy groan, tail thumping on Hermione's chair leg.

They turned down breakfast - stoat sandwiches - but took Hagrid up on his offer for tea, and when the three of them were seated with steaming mugs in front of them, Hagrid said:

"So, what do yeh think I can do for yeh?"

"Er," Harry said, "well, we've been reading about the sorts of tasks they did in the old tournaments-" Hermione nodded. "-and they always seem to have at least one sort of magical creature in them. And you know about magical creatures better than almost anyone, so, I was hoping you could tell me about them. What I might need to know if I have to face them." Hagrid looked delighted, and Harry suddenly had visions of still being here at dinner time, having only got to Billywigs in the alphabet of magical creatures. Hermione winced into her mug, and Harry thought they were thinking the same. "Er, dragons, specifically."

"Dragons?" Hagrid asked. He looked no less enthused, but a bit perplexed. "I'm happy ter tell yeh about 'em, Harry, but if yeh want ter be properly prepared, it migh' be best fer me ter tell yeh a mite about everythin'..."

"Er…" Harry nudged Hermione's foot under the table, a silent plea for help.

"We think there's a fairly good chance it'll be dragons," Hermione said smoothly. "They hadn't been used for quite a few tournaments before the last one, and since this is the first one, we think it's likely they'll want to use something impressive that really tests the Champions." Harry nodded vigorously.

"Well, a dragon'll test yeh all righ'!" Hagrid said. "Marvellous creatures, dragons. If yeh're right, I'll be a bit jealous of yeh, ter be honest." Harry forced a smile. "Now, what might yeh need ter know…"

* * *

 _Dear Ron,_

 _Stating the obvious a bit there; yes, I do know a lot about dragons. What I don't know about dragons probably isn't worth knowing._

 _I've always hoped that one of you might take an interest in magizoology, and it seems I've got my wish all at once; Ginny wrote to me yesterday to ask for help with a Care of Magic Creatures essay about dragons, and Fred and George are apparently considering working at the sanctuary with me after they graduate and want to know all about dragon handling techniques. And now, you've written._

 _I just want it on record that I'm not an idiot; I'm fairly sure I know where your curiosity's come from even if I have no idea_ how _you know you ought to be curious. Let's leave it at that, for the sake of plausible deniability, eh?_

 _So, to dragons…You were pretty vague in what you wanted to know about, so I'm just going to tell you what I think will be most helpful._

 _Dragons are found all over the world. We've got some here at the sanctuary from places like Wales, Sweden, Hungary, and China. They're all different, both physically and in their behaviour, because they've adapted to these different habitats. If you want to know specifics, there's a book in the Hogwarts library called_ Wyrms of the World _, which was so useful I've since procured my own copy._

 _Dragons can be dangerous, even when they're young - maybe you remember that from your first year - and only become more dangerous as they figure out how to fly properly and control their fire. As a handler, I find smaller breeds and adolescent dragons are the most dangerous, simply because they're more agile, and therefore almost impossible to outrun or outfly. That's not to say larger breeds, or fully grown adults, aren't dangerous. Sure, you've got more hope of dodging them, but there's also a lot more of them to dodge, and they'll certainly do more damage than a smaller dragon if they catch you!_

 _Generally speaking, males tend to be calmer and more predictable than females, though both tend to mellow with age. Nesting mothers can be particularly nasty, especially if they think you're going anywhere near their eggs._

 _Some useful magic:_

 _Avea Apara, cast with a circling motion above your head. Harry'll be familiar with this one, so talk to him about it, and what it can and can't do._

 _Colloshoo. Dragons use their wings for balance as well as flying. If you want to slow them down, or keep them on the ground, sticking spells cast in the circled locations on the enclosed diagram will pin the wings. Trouble is, the spells need to be cast simultaneously, or in very quick succession, else they'll just pull them free._

 _Don't bother with fire freezing charms - dragon fire is much too hot. Similarly, transfiguring dragon fire is not really an option - there's too much of it, and there's some theory about the heat of matter and transfiguration that I don't remember any more. McGonagall would be able to tell you. What_ does _work is a bit of elemental magic. You might have heard of Fiendfyre, which is really nasty dark magic, but otherwise not dissimilar in principle. It all comes down to will and an understanding of fire (some people just have a natural affinity for it, others have to spend hours watching fire, and conjuring fire, and getting burned by fire to build that understanding, like I did). Don't get me wrong, it's complicated magic, and practicing with a candle or fireplace is a good start but still nothing compared to what you'll have to do to control dragon fire. Still, if you can get good with it, you can redirect fire, and even learn to control it to a certain degree. If you're interested,_ Mastering the Elements _is a really useful book - it's in the Restricted Section (or it was when I was at Hogwarts) which is a pain. We used to use Tonks to get it, but you've got an actual teacher that'd probably be quite happy to help you out, so I don't imagine that'll be an issue._

 _That's probably the best I can give you, and it ought to be pretty helpful... know, I know - I'm the best, most helpful brother ever._

 _Give my best to Harry, and to the others, and I'll see you all soon._

 _Charlie_

* * *

Ron loved the Room. The piles of _stuff_ and little corner that resembled the Shrieking Shack had not appeared since the first time he'd rediscovered it. These days, there was a long stone walkway that connected the door and their sitting area (which bore a remarkable resemblance to their favourite corner of the Gryffindor common room), lined on one side with bookshelves, and on the other side with wooden railing to prevent anyone toppling over the edge and into the large sunken area, which took up the entirety of the rest of the space.

Since re-discovering it, Ron had done a bit of reading about just what magic could do when it came to securing a place, and then worked with the others to test the Room's security instructions. Harry and Malfoy - who were both very used to house elves and loopholes - had been very helpful there. It felt like theirs, in a way that not many other places did, a place where they couldn't be interrupted, and where they could talk without being at risk of anyone overhearing them, and it was a nice place to spend time…

Even if it currently smelled like burning hair.

"I think you're doing it wrong," Malfoy said, from where he was lying on one of the couches, with _Wyrms of the World_ propped up against his knees. He hadn't looked up, but Ron figured he'd been able to work out what had happened from the smell and Harry's cursing.

"I'd worked that out for myself, thanks" Harry muttered, rubbing his red, smoking arm, while Hermione hovered nervously. "But if you've got any _useful_ advice, that'd be good."

"Fire is very much _not_ my element," Malfoy said. He was right; he'd been the worst at it out of all of them, with Harry a close second. Ron seemed to have a bit of the natural affinity for it that Charlie's letter had mentioned, and Hermione, despite obviously having no natural affinity for it, had - in typical Hermione fashion - proved the best of them thanks to a sound understanding of magical theory. "I think I'm probably more of a water sort of person," Malfoy continued, turning a page of his book. Harry scowled in his direction for a few moments.

"Any suggestions?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Maybe," she said, with a thoughtful frown. "I'll try to talk you through it." Harry nodded and raised his wand.

"Again," he said.

"Are you sure you don't want a fire-freezing-"

"Being at risk's a better motivator," Harry said, and Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing more. Ron caught Hermione's eye, a silent _Ready?_ passing between them. She nodded.

" _Incendio_." Fire streamed from Ron's wand toward Harry, who twitched as if he wanted to jump out of the way, then squared his shoulders.

"Now," Hermione murmured - a few moments late in Ron's opinion - and Harry twisted his wand. The fire wavered then swerved, but a thought from Ron straightened its course. Harry's face scrunched up and Hermione was murmuring to Harry, low and urgent. Harry made a sharp motion with his wand that Ron knew was all wrong and that made Hermione wince; the fire was upon them again. Ron called it back, and Hermione shouted, " _Protego Aqua_!"

A watery shield popped up between Harry and the fading fire, protecting him until Ron released his spell and it disappeared entirely.

"Thanks," Harry said to her, slumping.

"That was a bit better," Hermione said encouragingly. Harry glanced at her, skeptical. "It was. Not perfect, obviously - your timing needs work and your movements were too sharp. Fire's…" She looked at Ron, imploring.

"It needs to be guided, not forced," Ron said.

"I _was_ guiding it," Harry grumbled. "Or trying to." Ron caught Hermione's eye and they shared a helpless look.

"You just need more practice," Hermione said. "Really, Harry, it's only been a few days. Charlie said it's complicated, you can't expect to pick it up-"

"You have. Both of you," Harry said, not grudging, but rather helpless. He nodded at Ron. "You were directing it just then, and you pulled it back when you realised I'd mucked up."

"You'll get there too," Hermione said firmly. "You just need more practice. And we have time-"

"A few weeks," Harry said, arching an eyebrow.

"You'll get there, mate," Ron said.

"You've been getting it to consider changing direction today, which you weren't able to do yesterday or the day before, or the day before. Think of what you can do with several times that amount of time." Hermione smiled at Harry, and reached out to give his hand a brief squeeze.

"Something, probably," Harry said, in a mild tone that Ron thought he'd picked up from Remus. "But I don't know if it'll be anything that's any good against dragon fire." Much as Ron liked Hermione's optimism, he thought Harry was probably right.

Ron had always thought it would be nice to take to some sort of magic faster than Harry, but he'd quite happily have given Harry his slight fire affinity on the spot; Harry, after all, was the one who was going to need it.

"Maybe I'll have to go with the Conjunctivitus Curse after all…" Harry grinned but it was tired. "D'you reckon Charlie'd be mad?"

"Yes," Malfoy called back.

"Probably," Ron said, grinning. "You saw his response to Ginny." Ginny, like Ron, had written to Charlie, but she'd asked specifically about dragons' weaknesses. Charlie had said there were only a few, since dragons were so well protected by their scales; their eyes were one, goblin-forged weapons were another, dragon teeth and claws were a third, and dragonsbane was a fourth, and Charlie'd gone on - at length - about how unnecessary, cruel, illegal, and unethical those options were.

"Harry, you-"

"I'm joking, Hermione," Harry said tiredly.

"I'm not," Hermione said. "If you're going up against a dragon because V-Voldemort's making you, I'd worry less about the dragon or upsetting Charlie and more about… well." The word _surviving_ hung heavy in the air though none of them had said it aloud.

"And getting whatever the dragon's guarding," Malfoy said.

"Guarding?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. Guarding." The three of them turned to look at him, and he snapped the book shut and rolled into a sitting position, brandishing Charlie's letter. "Did any of you even _read_ this?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "That's why we're practicing this."

" _Yes_ ," Malfoy said. "But he hasn't just told us useful spells, he's told us _everything._ Everything he thinks is useful, which is very useful because he knows why you're interested in dragons and he said he'll see us all soon, so he's obviously involved." He brandished the letter again. "There'll be a Welsh Green, a Swedish Shortsnout, a Chinese Fireball, and a Hungarian Horntail - four dragons for four Champions. The dragons will probably be nesting mothers. Since dragon-tamer-Weasley's adamantly against Potter hurting anything, and lore traditionally portrays dragons as guardians, I think it's safe to assume you'll be trying to get to something they'll be guarding."

"You got all that from Charlie's letter?" Hermione asked, eyebrows shooting up.

"You didn't?" Malfoy asked. He considered the letter. "I suppose he's subtle, at least for a Weasley… or perhaps Durban helped him with it." Either way, Malfoy looked approving. "Even so, it's ridiculously obvious." He glanced at Ron, then at Harry, who looked a bit stunned - and Hermione - who looked both impressed and insulted. "Well _I_ thought it was."

"Clearly," Ron muttered, catching Harry's eye. Harry seemed to return to himself, then shrugged.

"Makes sense, I s'pose." Harry rubbed a hand through his hair. "Stealing from a dragon's a new one, but not the most ridiculous thing I've had to do." Ron grinned and Hermione snorted a laugh. "And I certainly like the idea of stealing from one better than fighting one."

"Stealing from a nesting mother's likely to end in fight," Malfoy warned.

"Maybe," Harry said, shrugging. "But that's what all this is for, isn't it." Harry gave them a wry smile then settled into a ready stance, and lifted his wand. Ron mirrored him:

"Again?" Hermione nodded to say she was ready.

"Again," Harry said.


	23. Evenly Matched

_THE YOUNGEST CHAMPION_

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _You'd think we'd all be done being shocked by Harry Potter, but almost two weeks ago he shocked us again when he was selected as a fourth Triwizard Champion. Since then, this reporter's had a chance to speak properly with young Harry, and thinks that really, we shouldn't have been shocked at all._

 _No one seems to know for sure just how Harry Potter wound up in the Tournament, but speculation is rife; did he enter himself, or have someone else enter him on his behalf? Or is there something more sinister going on?_

 _Young Harry would have us believe it's the last, claiming to be an unwilling competitor, and witnesses at the Opening Ceremony believe the devastated look on godfather Sirius Black's face confirms it._

 _Certainly, young Harry may be unwilling, and certainly Black may have been surprised and worried by the announcement of his godson as a Champion, but, though our youngest Champion claimed not to have known his name would be chosen, the Candidity Charms on this reporter's quill suggest otherwise, leading this reporter to believe that this is not some sinister scheme, but rather, a child's desperate act to assert his independence from an overbearing guardian._

 _Regular readers will be familiar with Harry Potter, best known as the orphan with the tragic past and mysterious powers, but also known for his 'kidnapping' at the hands of his now guardian and resulting time spent in hiding, and almost as well for his involvement in a number of dangerous events, including but not limited to the opening (and closing) of the Chamber of Secrets two years ago, an attack on Hogsmeade by confirmed Death Eater Peter Pettigrew last year, and the attack at the Quidditch World Cup over the summer._

 _Potter's involvement in these events can be attributed predominantly to Black's incompetence, which has, in the past has either directly resulted in Potter winding up in the line of fire, or at the very least, not being removed from it quickly enough when bad luck or Potter's own penchant for seeking out drama and adventure were to blame initially. This reporter believes Black joining the Hogwarts staff this year is his misguided attempt to rectify his past failings, and that he has been trying to keep Potter under very close watch since term commenced; statements from a number of witnesses at Hogwarts say Potter reports to Black's office almost nightly. But Black's attempts to keep Potter safely under his thumb and watchful eyes has instead driven Potter to rebel by entering the Triwizard Tournament, with his intention to either to punish his overbearing guardian, or to prove to him he is old enough to have some independence._

 _At fourteen, Potter admitted in his interview that he'll be outclassed by the other Champions who are "much older, and probably much better" than he is, and when asked how he felt about competing in the Tournament, knowing previous Champions have died, only said he "hope[d] not to be one of them". One can only pity Potter for thinking this was the only way to get through to Black. For all his desperation, though, Potter's move was not without some planning; cleverly, Potter claims that You Know Who is responsible for entering him into the Tournament; who, after all, would dare question the boy that has been a victim of You Know Who so many times previously, even if it is implausible? This reporter thinks she might be the only one. He also ensured he was entered under a school other than Hogwarts, where Black will be unable to use his place on the staff to interfere: "There's nothing he can do to get me out of it, or stop me competing," Potter said, his performance impressively grim. "He's not happy, obviously." Potter was less certain about what his parents - the late Lily and James Potter - would think, but said in his interview that..._

* * *

"Eurgh!" Ron squawked as Harry doused him and his conjured fire with a wall of water; after a week of trying to get a better grip on elemental fire magic, Harry'd… well, not given up, but realised that what he had managed to learn wouldn't be any use against a dragon, and so had started looking at other options; he'd spoken to Dora about the spells she and Moody had used to keep Wormtail's Fiendfyre at bay, figuring that if they could handle that, they could probably handle dragon fire.

Water was no more Harry's strong suit than fire was, but thankfully he could go for power over finesse; if he conjured enough of it in roughly the right place, it didn't matter much that he couldn't move it around or otherwise make it do his bidding.

" _Incendio pila_ ," Hermione said from behind him. Harry ducked and rolled to avoid it on its first pass, and when Hermione swept her wand to bring it back around, cast a quick _Procellus_. The spell caught the fireball in a vortex of air, tearing it apart and then - when Harry twitched his wand - smothering what was left; air, as it had turned out, he _did_ have an affinity for. Whether it would be enough to help him against a dragon, though, was another matter.

It was only years of Quidditch reflexes that saved Harry from what would probably have been a rather nasty concussion; the almost silent whooshing of something moving quickly through the air made him twist and duck, the armchair that would have hit him in the head knocked his shoulder instead and knocked him off balance. Harry managed to salvage his fall with a roll - another Quidditch trick - and then rolled again to avoid a jet of flame.

"An armchair?!" Harry scrambled to his feet, shoulder aching, and then jumped back as a jagged block of stone almost as tall as he was burst from the floor. Others followed - Ron, proving he really did have excellent control over the Room - and Harry found himself standing in a forest of rock, unable to see the others properly. He took cover against one of the stony protrusions, and listened.

A rustle of fabric, breathing, and the crackle of another fireball - Hermione - made him move quietly to the other side of his cover.

"Ron, down!" Hermione called, and the stones sank back into the floor leaving Harry very exposed and caught at the centre of a triangle of his friends; All three of them shouted spells at the same time, and Harry swept his wand up:

" _Avea apara!"_

The dome sprung up around him, glittering and orange, and Harry grinned as a whip of fire - Ron's spell - and one of the Room's couches - Draco's contribution - hit the dome; Hermione had averted her wand at the last moment, and her conjured fire spurted harmlessly into the air. Ron's flames crawled up the side of the dome like a curious snake, perhaps probing for a weak spot, while the couch hit the dome with a _CRUNCH_ and was deflected away, bouncing once, twice, and then a third time, looking distinctly worse for wear.

Ron's fire faded as he started to laugh, and Hermione and Draco stared at the couch in identical disbelief. Harry cancelled his spell, still grinning.

"You'd better be able to fix that," Hermione said finally.

" _Potter_ ought to fix it, seeing as it was his spell that did it," Draco said.

"Only because you threw a couch at him," Ron chortled.

"And an armchair," Harry said, rolling his shoulder with a wince.

"I'm not particularly good with fire," Draco said. "So I thought you ought to practice dodging big, heavy things. I don't have a tail or a big clawed foot, so I figured the furniture was a good substitute." He was entirely unapologetic, but he did wave his wand at the couch, which popped back into its proper shape as the frame under the cushions and stuffing mended. A few murmured spells later and the armchair and couch were out of their practice pit, and back up by the fireplace. "And I think I was right to get you to practice." He gave Harry's shoulder a pointed look. "You think that hurt, but now imagine being stepped on by a dragon." Ron made a strange sound, something between a groan and a laugh.

"I'd rather not, actually," Harry said, grimacing. He sighed. "But you're right; I'll have to be quicker, somehow, or make sure I've got more time to react." Taking a Dodging Draught right before he went in would probably be illegal - it certainly was in Quidditch - and probably not worth the side effects, but then again, short term twitchiness and hyperactivity were certainly better than being dead… Or, maybe there was a spell he could cast on his shoes. He'd have to ask Padfoot.

"Or you could worry less about dodging and more about shielding," Hermione said. "As long as the spell doesn't do to the dragon what it did to the couch…" She bit her lip.

"Charlie wouldn't have suggested it if it did, I don't think," Ron said. "But there's an easy way to find out… Harry?" Ron gestured at his wand, and Harry recast the spell.

Ron strode up to the dome, pressed a hand against it, patted it, leaned his shoulder against it, let himself fall against it, and then backed up a few steps.

A moment later, Hermione shrieked as Ron threw himself at it.

"Oof!" Ron bounced off and hit the ground, where - probably sensing his need for them - the Room had suddenly placed a scattering of cushions. Harry cancelled the spell again and stepped forward as Ron sat up, rubbing the places he'd come into contact with the barrier.

"All right?" he asked.

"Reckon I'll pull through," Ron said, and then placed a dramatic hand to his forehead and flopped back onto the ground. "Maybe." He glanced at Hermione. "Only just, though. If I don't, you'll say something nice at my funeral, right?"

" _No_ ," she said, crossly, "I'll tell everyone you died pretending to be a dragon so you could test a stupid theory." Draco sniggered.

" _I'll_ say something nice," Harry assured him, and Ron grinned and accepted the hand up Harry had offered.

"Oh, shut up, Harry," Hermione said but she was hiding a smile now that she knew Ron hadn't hurt himself any worse than a bruise or two.

"It's useful to know," Harry said. "What if someone _does_ run into it at the first task?"

"Why on earth would anyone-"

"If Voldemort _is_ planning to use the dragons as a distraction and try something, there could be people anywhere," Harry said. "At least now I don't have to worry about accidentally breaking them."

"You'd have to be moving pretty quick," Ron said. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't look like that, I'm a bit of an expert in this now, you know." He lifted his eyebrows, and Harry thought it made him resemble the twins far more than he usually did.

"Running into a spell _once_ doesn't make you an-"

"I thought you said the Dark Lord wasn't going to go through with that," Draco said, over the top of Ron and Hermione's bickering.

"I said him telling me about it was deliberate," Harry said. After the look he'd got into the Dark Lord's mind the day his Walpurgis uniform arrived, he knew it had been. What he didn't know, was if Voldemort knew Harry knew it had been deliberate. He thought Voldemort probably did, since he'd never missed an opportunity to mess with Harry's head.

"Yes," Draco said, "so he probably won't go ahead with it, because you know to be on your guard for it."

"Probably not," Harry agreed.

"But maybe that's the point," Draco mused. "Have you watching out for dragon-related trouble, when he'll actually go about it some other way." Moony had said the same thing, though Harry's best guess as to Voldemort's motives was that it had been to give Harry a clue about the first task. Perhaps he was making sure Harry didn't have the nerve to be eaten by a dragon before he could die at Voldemort's hand.

Although, surely if Harry were badly injured or burnt, it would make things that much easier for Voldemort… Then again, when had Voldemort ever done things the easy way?

"... or maybe there's no dragon at all," Draco said, and then shook himself. "What am I saying, dragon-tamer-Weasley and McKinnon have both confirmed it. Of course there's a dragon. Four dragons."

"One for each Champion," Harry said grimly.

"That's right… maybe he told you because he wants you to win," Draco said. Harry nodded; if it wasn't simply because Voldemort didn't want Harry to die at an inconvenient moment, then that was the other possibility. Harry would be in _his_ uniform, after all. "In which case we're only doing what he wants."

"We can't do any less," Hermione said, rejoining the conversation. "It'd be almost suicidal to go up against a dragon unprepared."

"If anyone could do it…" Draco gave Harry a significant look.

"It's not worth the risk," Ron said. "But we could even the playing field a bit. Harry's prepared, why not make sure the rest are too?"

There was silence, and then nodding from Draco, and a thoughtful look from Hermione.

"Brilliant," Harry said. "Moony can tell Fleur, if he hasn't already. I can tell Cedric. He might think it's odd, but he's not stupid, so I don't think he'll just ignore me outright… I dunno how to talk to Krum, though."

"If Karkaroff's in on it, he probably already knows," Draco said.

"Unless we can be _sure_ he knows, we have to assume he doesn't," Ron said. "You can't just talk to him, Harry?"

"Maybe?" Harry said, trying to imagine what he would say to get Krum to believe he was telling the truth, and not trying to sabotage Durmstrang.

"How about an owl?" Ron asked.

"Same problem," Harry said. "Unless I did it anonymously, that might-"

"Severus might know a way," Draco said, and Harry frowned; after the end of last year and his 'help' with the _Sectumsempra_ curse, he was reluctant to let Snape help with anything. "Even if we can't get it to Krum directly, if we got it to Karkaroff, it's sure to feed down to him."

"Harry can't go up to _Karkaroff_ ," Ron said, looking at Draco as if he was mad.

"Which is why I suggested _Severus_ might be able to-"

"I'll do it," Hermione said.

"Go to Karkaroff?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"No, I think we should avoid any contact with Karkaroff," Hermione said. "But I'm happy to try to get a message to Krum," she said, and both Ron and Draco's heads swung to look at her, Draco curious, Ron goggling. "He's always in the library," she said, going pink under the scrutiny. "And I wouldn't actually _give_ it to him, but I could hide a note one of his books, or slip it into his bag…"

"What's Krum doing in the _library_?" Ron asked.

"Reading, I would imagine," Hermione said rather coolly.

"Blimey," Ron said. "Are you sure it's Krum, and not some other-"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Because his entourage are always there, giggling and following him around. It's quite annoying, actually."

"Wicked," Ron said. "Reckon I can help then? I can distract him, while you drop the note? It won't be obvious; I bet he has fans come up to him all the time-"

"Fans, yes, but you stand out a bit," Draco said. "You're tall, you're always with Potter - which Krum ought to know if he's been scoping out the other Champions - and you've got distinctive hair-"

"So does Hermione," Ron said.

"She's always in the library though," Draco said. "I can't speak for Krum, but I'd certainly be suspicious if I received a mysterious note the same day one of the other Champions' best friends approached me for the first time… Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I s'pose," Ron said, looking a bit put out.

"Would you? I don't reckon I'd know Fleur or Krum's friends from the other visiting students," Harry admitted.

"You're visually impaired," Draco said dismissively. "And an idiot. And oblivious. Which is why you have me." Ron snorted. "So, in the off chance that Krum's _not_ equally useless, I think it ought to be Granger on her own. And then Lupin gets Delacour, and Potter gets Diggory, and everyone's covered."

* * *

"Potter," Cedric said, his smile confused but polite when Harry cut him off at the doors after dinner.

"Cedric," Harry said. "Got a minute?"

"Er… sure," Cedric said, and waved his friends away with a promise to meet them in the kitchens for dessert. "You didn't hear that," he said.

"Definitely not," Harry agreed, with a sly look at Cedric's prefect badge. Cedric snorted. "I… er… I wanted to talk to you about the first task. It's… er… soon."

"It is," Cedric agreed, in the same conversational tone. Then, his scent changed, became more concerned. "You feeling all right about it? Prepared?" Concerned for Harry, Harry realised.

"I hope so," Harry muttered. "You?"

"Hard to know what to prepare for," Cedric said, shrugging. "So I've just been doing a bit of everything."

"I might be able to help with that," Harry said. Cedric gave Harry a look that made him think he was humouring him. "It's dragons. The first task." Cedric blinked.

"Dragons?" Harry nodded. Cedric surveyed him with slightly narrowed eyes, scent suspicious. After a few moments, it became a perplexed sort of trusting. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Harry said.

"All right." Cedric let out a low, gusty breath. "So what are you telling me for? I'm your competition, remember?"

"And I don't care about winning, remember?" Harry asked in the same tone. A shadow passed over Cedric's face.

"Still on about that, huh?" Harry wasn't sure what his face looked like, but it prompted Cedric to add: "I know you didn't put your name in. That reporter's whole article hinges on you resenting Black, and anyone that's seen the two of you together knows that's rubbish…" That seemed to be the common opinion at Hogwarts, but Harry was still unexpectedly relieved to hear that, and grateful too; Padfoot had been receiving a lot of letters from people outside Hogwarts who wanted to give him a piece of their mind and criticise how he'd raised Harry. "I just- whoever entered you… if you have to compete, you might as well win, right?"

"I just want to make it through this alive," Harry said.

"Alive, and with the Triwizard Cup," Cedric said, trying to use a teasing tone to hide the fact that he was being quite serious; Harry could smell it. "I've played against you before, so I know what you're like…"

"This isn't Quidditch," Harry said, and then paused as something occurred to him. Cedric didn't seem to notice:

"Even so, you're not the losing sort, Potter." Cedric's smile was wry.

"Neither are you," Harry said, exasperated. "You entered because you _wanted_ to win, so take this seriously, go work out how to get past a dragon, and beat me." Cedric stared at him. "And be careful. Voldemort-" Cedric twitched at the name. "-put me in this Tournament, and until we can work out why, you and the other Champions are probably in as much danger as I am."

* * *

"What in Merlin's name is this?" Sirius hissed at breakfast, shoving his copy of the _Prophet_ in front of Remus so aggressively it nearly spilled his tea. Remus lowered his fork, glanced at the article, and then resumed eating. Sirius grabbed his arm. "What did you _do?_ "

"I wrote a letter," Remus said, "letting her know in no uncertain terms what I thought about her last article." He cut a slice of his toast, loaded it proportionally with egg and bacon, and skewered it neatly with his fork.

"Moony…"

"Don't Moony me, Padfoot," he said. The photograph of Remus that accompanied the article - a recent one of him in neat teacher's robes, and looking about as un-monsterish as was possible - gave Sirius an unimpressed look, and nodded his agreement. "What she wrote about you and Harry, and what she insinuated about Lily and James after the Weighing of the Wands was atrocious." Remus cut another slice of toast. "Besides…" He nodded at the paper, eyes skimming the writing. "Calling me a werewolf, unstable, a monster, and saying I'm unfit to be around children… it's not anything new, and if that's the best she can put together, I'll admit to being a little disappointed."

"You should have kept out of it," Sirius sighed.

"When have I ever willingly kept out of anything where you or Harry have been involved?" Remus asked, lowering his cutlery in exasperation. He folded his arms and held Sirius' gaze until Sirius looked away.

"Point," Sirius muttered. "But it's not just you that goes down with us now… If she doesn't get the reaction she wants from you, she might go after Dora, or-"

"Dora can handle herself," Remus said. "And she'd probably be delighted if Rita tried anything; she's got far too much time on her hands at the moment, and as much as she loves being a mother, I think she'd welcome a bit of excitement."

There was a shrill sound from the Gryffindor table, following by a flash of orange and then a lazy swirl of smoke; that no one at the Gryffindor table reacted other than to cast a few vaguely curious looks in Fleur Delacour's direction spoke volumes about how desensitised they'd become after living with Fred and George. Fleur shot to her feet - and _then_ the staring began, especially from the boys - with a smouldering copy of the _Prophet_ in her hand, and came marching up to the staff table, her face like a pretty thunderstorm.

Sirius, who'd had no intention of letting the matter drop, did; he grinned as Remus sighed, finished his breakfast to the ambient sounds of Fleur saying in French what Sirius had been saying just before, and then pushed back his chair, bidding them both a good morning.

Harry was waiting in the Entrance Hall, looking a bit dazed.

"You all right?" Sirius asked, concerned.

"Yeah," Harry said, and smelled like he meant it. "Yeah, I just- You know how I told you about the furniture, and needing to work out how to dodge faster…? I was spoke to Cedric last night, and I think I've figured it out."

"Yeah?" Sirius asked, interested, as they started upstairs. "Did he have a suggestion?"

"No, it was something I said while I was with him." Harry glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance, then said, "I'm going to fly."

"That's mental," Sirius said, and Harry's shoulders slumped. "But so's all of this, so maybe it's the right kind of mental." Harry brightened, and Sirius reached out to ruffle his hair. "Have you thought about how you're going to get your broom? They're not likely to let you walk in with it."

"I was hoping maybe you could throw it to me from the sidelines," Harry said; he was grinning, but Sirius could tell from his scent that he wasn't entirely joking. "Or maybe I could call Kreacher and he could bring it…?"

"Or you could Summon it," Sirius suggested. "You've just done that in Charms, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but I was rubbish at it," Harry said, pulling a face.

"Better work on that, then," Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder. Harry sighed. "You'll have time. I've conveniently just made the decision to move the lesson I had planned to next week, so today fourth years'll be having a session on how to use the environment around you in a duel, with particular focus on summoning things into your opponent, or into the path of a spell." He considered Harry, then considered Harry on a broom against a dragon. "And cushioning charms," he said decisively, sure he could _feel_ his hair turning grey. "I don't know how, yet, but I'm going to find some way to work that in."

* * *

There was a thud somewhere nearby - books falling off the shelves, perhaps - and Viktor glanced up briefly, then back to his book.

Quiet footsteps sounded behind him, and he looked up again, resigned, but it wasn't someone coming to bother him. It was the library girl, her arms laden with books and wand in her fist. She noticed Viktor and nodded, continuing past.

"Hello," he said, pleased, turning in his chair; he'd enjoyed meeting her enough to hope their paths might cross again, but in the weeks since meeting her the first time, he'd only seen glimpses of her around the castle.

"Hello." She slowed and offered him a polite smile, visibly reluctant. He found himself disappointed by that.

"I have stolen your table again," he said, but wasn't really sorry about it; he was very rarely disturbed when he sat at it.

"Apparently," she said, with a more genuine smile.

"You can sit, if you'd like." He leaned forward to push the chair out for her. Her cheeks went a little pink, but she shook her head.

"Thank you, but I'm only here to put these back," she said, hefting her pile. Viktor nodded.

"You have been busy, yes?"

"I… yes, I suppose?" She was still smiling, but there was a shrewdness in those clever eyes now, and he wondered why. "Why do you say that?"

"I have not seen you here."

"Oh." She blinked in surprise, then went pink again. "I- no, I suppose I haven't been here much." She gave him a curious look. "You… um... obviously have been, though?"

"Your library is…" Viktor struggled for a moment to think of the word in English. "Impressive." He nodded at the pile in front of him, and then around at the shelves.

"Rowena Ravenclaw started the Hogwarts library out of her own personal collection," the girl said.

"Ours is good at Durmstrang too, but only for some things."

"I've read that Durmstrang's quite… specialised." She placed a rather delicate emphasis on the last word, and her eyes had gone sharply curious again.

"We are focused on duelling magics and transfiguration, you mean." She shrugged and nodded, the books in her arms moving with her. He was a little impressed she hadn't put them down yet; they must be heavy. "Hogwarts has no focus, I think." He saw her bristle, then draw herself up as if in preparation to tell him just what she thought of _that_ , but he waved a hand. "It's not a bad thing. It means you know a little bit of everything." She deflated.

"Helga Hufflepuff did that on purpose when they set the curriculum," she said, nodding slowly. "She wanted everyone to have a chance to be good at something, and a chance to be bad at something, and figured any real specialisation could come after school."

"So what are you bad at?" Viktor asked. Again, that probing look from her. Then:

"Divination," she said, and seemed oddly proud of that. "And back in first year, flying." She gave him a wry look, as if remembering who she was talking to.

"I am not so good with Herbology," Viktor offered.

She nodded, and they lapsed into silence that was equally companionable and awkward. After several long seconds, the girl hefted her pile again:

"Well," she said, "it was um… nice to see you again."

"You as well," Viktor said. "Next time you are here, maybe it will be for longer?"

"Oh, um- yes." She was blushing again. "Yes, maybe. Good night." She smiled, almost shyly and then disappeared into the shelves.

"Good night," he called after her, as loudly as he dared; the librarian was a piece of work. Then, he realised he'd forgotten to ask for her name again, and stood on impulse, intending to go and find out. The sudden motion bumped the table, and his inkwell sloshed across the table. He saved his notes and the library books, and then stilled:

Underneath everything was a slip of parchment bearing five words: _Dragons are the first task_.

He stared at it, shocked and uncomprehending, and then his mind began to work… Dragons. _Dragons_. What did he know about them? How would he beat them? Would he be better to use offensive magic, or defensive magic against one?

And how had the note got there, under all of his things?

Dragons would need more consideration, but that last was easier to solve; he picked the parchment up and abandoned the rest of his things, and moved quickly through the library, checking every aisle for the girl. He found her putting her final two books away, and she glanced at him when he stopped, wearing that same polite smile as she had earlier.

He closed most of the distance between them in two long strides, then thrust the note in her direction. She looked at it, then at him, eyes widening.

"What's that?" She was not a particularly convincing actress.

"You are too clever to be good at pretending to be stupid," he said. She pursed her lips. "What is this?"

"It looks like a note," she said, arching an eyebrow in a way that - though Viktor didn't know her well at all - made him think she was trying to channel someone else.

"Why did you give it to me?" he pressed. "I know it was you. Your table is a good one. No one bothers me there, so you are the only one I have seen tonight." She said nothing, but her expression was chagrined. "Why?" He brandished the note again. She slid her last book into its place on the shelf and made to move past him. Viktor blocked her.

"Excuse me," she said, and when he didn't move, stepped around to his other side and tried to pass that way. Viktor caught her wrist instinctively, and, though he'd not done it roughly or held her overly tightly, her response was instant: she yanked her arm away from him, and the other whipped out her wand. Her eyes flicked behind her, once, to the wall at the end of the aisle, and then back to him.

He'd frightened her, he realised, and felt a sting of shame; she'd gone very pale and her eyes were wide, and the arm he'd touched was tight against her chest. For all that, though, her expression was fierce, and her wand was steady.

"I see the Gryffindor now." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry," he said, genuinely, and put his hands up to show he meant her no harm. "That was rude of me." Slowly, he shuffled to the side, unblocking the aisle. She didn't put her wand away, but she lowered it. Viktor let his hands fall to his sides. She took one cautious step forward, then several quick ones, until she was the one standing between him and the rest of the library. "I just want to know why." He twitched the hand holding the note and her eyes went to it. "It… unsettles me, this... help. You had a book on dragons last time-" Unless she'd been playing the long game, and setting this up even then… But he didn't think so... Her eyebrows shot up. "-so this is right, I think. But I don't know why."

"All the other Champions know too," she said with a sigh. "This way, it's even."

"So Potter knows you've told me?" She frowned at him for a long moment, then sighed again.

"Does that really look like it would be my handwriting?" she asked. He looked down at the scrawled words, then at her. It didn't look like what he imagined hers would; she looked like she'd have either small, neat writing, or writing that was not legible to anyone but her. This was neither.

"Potter's?" The grim, slightly nervous look on her face was answer enough. "It is very fair of him." He considered the note again. "And this is a good thing, for him, I think. If I am fighting a dragon, I will be too busy to fight him."

"I think Harry'd rather fight you than a dragon," she said.

"But this way he doesn't have to fight me _and_ a dragon," Viktor said, and shrugged. "It is a good thing."


	24. Supporting Harry

"I know he's your godfather, mate," Ron said, as he and Malfoy looked up at the ingredients cupboard they had to restock, "but sometimes, he's a real git." Malfoy shrugged and pulled the nearest jar off its shelf, and then started looking through the boxes and crates and wrapped parcels behind them for more of whatever it contained.

"Because he gave us detention?" Malfoy asked.

"Yes," Ron said. "The first task is _tomorrow_. We should be up in the Room with Harry, not restocking-" He grabbed a box off the shelf and scowled at it. "-cactus prickles." he rattled it at Malfoy to make his point.

"Potter's got Granger and Black, and he'll have us in an hour or so," Malfoy said. Ron glanced around the cupboard and thought an hour was very, very optimistic of him. "Besides, I needed to talk to you."

"So- What?" Ron turned to Malfoy, still holding the box of cactus prickles.

"That letter I got yesterday, from my father…" Malfoy paused until Ron nodded to show that yes, he did remember the letter arriving. "It asked me to meet with him through the Floo at dawn this morning."

"Did you?" Ron asked.

"Obviously," Malfoy said, with a roll of his eyes.

"Reckon that's the first time the Gryffindor Floo's ever been connected to Malfoy Manor?"

"Focus, Weasley," Malfoy said, and then his mouth twitched. "But yes, probably." Ron smirked, refilled the cactus prickles, then replaced them on the shelf.

"So what'd he want?"

"To know what Potter intends for the first task," Malfoy said, his mouth a grim line.

"He- _What?_ " Ron nearly dropped a jar of dried frog toes.

"I assume he wishes to pass the information onto the Dark Lord. Maybe the Dark Lord requested the information, maybe it's just a test for me. It's hard to tell." Malfoy shifted a crate and then sat on it, turning a large root over in his hands.

"What'd you tell him?" Ron asked warily.

"Nothing," Malfoy said. "We were interrupted by She-Weasley coming downstairs. But he's expecting an answer, obviously, and I can't not give him one."

"Can you tell him you don't know?"

"Of course," Malfoy said, arching an eyebrow. "It just makes me look like a fairly ineffective informant, which is… well, less than ideal." He didn't sound scathing, but rather matter of fact, and a little troubled.

"Right," Ron said. "Yeah, okay." He blew out a breath and hopped up to sit on the edge of a large barrel, thinking. "Maybe it's best to just tell him everything, then. That he knows it's dragons, that he's been practicing spells that'll be useful against dragon fire, and that he's going to use his broom for at least some of it."

"That puts Potter too much at risk-"

"Harry's always at risk," Ron said, heavily. "At least here, the timing's right; Harry knows there's a chance V-Voldemort or Wormtail or someone's going to try something, so he'll be on his guard, and so will Sirius and Remus, and Marlene, and us, too. V-" Ron suppressed a shudder. "-oldemort knows Harry knows about the dragons, so that's hardly new information anyway. He'd have to be thick to not expect Harry'll be trying to find a way around the fire. Really the only useful bit of information is that Harry'll be on a broom-"

"Exactly, and if we give it to Father, then the Dark Lord might- might- make use of it. Somehow."

"Jinxing a broom's not something that needs preparation," Ron said. Malfoy pursed his lips. "That could happen regardless of whether they knew about it in advance." His stomach did an odd flop at the thought of it. "They want to shoot spells at him, or try to catch him to take him away somewhere… well, you've seen Harry on a broom. Best of luck to them." Ron gave Malfoy a small, slightly forced smile and Malfoy grunted, conceding that, eyes still on the root in his hands. Ron reached out with his foot to nudge Malfoy's knee and he glanced up. "If this is a test about how much you know, or how useful you are, you've got to pass it. And pass it by, like, Hermione's standards, rather than mine."

"Full marks or nothing?" Malfoy asked with a snort.

"Well, yeah," Ron said. "If you can't prove you can be useful now, they might cut you out of things later. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "To be involved so when something important happens later on, we know about it and can do something? Or so when they ask you for information that _really_ matters, you can lie and get away with it?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, mouth turning down. "I just- this is exactly the sort of thing I expected when I decided I'd do this… double-agent business. But I didn't expect to feel so much like a... well, like a traitor." He didn't look at Ron. "I know I'm doing it for the right reasons, but I'm still betraying Potter, still giving the Dark Lord what he wants… And if no one else knows, then it's my word against everyone else's, and-"

"And mine," Ron said, nudging his knee again. "I'm your confidant, remember, and excuse maker and the singer of your praises, and-"

"And the one that put the dragon on the mantel in the Room," Malfoy said.

"That too," Ron agreed; he'd done so a few days earlier. "Thought it was a good place for it." Malfoy grunted, but Ron thought he was grateful.

"Our word against everyone else's then," Malfoy said, after a moment. He looked at Ron, helpless. "You don't feel guilty, sitting here, conspiring with the Dark Lord's spy...?"

"I'm conspiring with a _friend_ ," Ron said. "A friend that's a spy because he's got Harry's best interests at heart, even if he's got to pretend otherwise to certain people for a while." He shrugged. "So no, I don't." Malfoy sighed. "Mate," Ron said. "If you can't do this, or don't want to, you know you don't have to. I'm talking it up because I thought you wanted reassurance, but if you don't… you started this, you can finish it just as easily. No one else is going to know except me, and I won't mind." He gave Malfoy a lopsided smile. "Means I can probably worry less, and that I won't get dragged off to detention just because you need to talk."

The second was just a guess made to lighten the mood, but Malfoy smirked and Ron knew it had been an accurate guess.

"Hmm, yes," Malfoy said. "That's a good point; if I backed out, it'd make your life entirely too easy." Ron raised his middle finger good naturedly. Malfoy smirked again, then it faded, and quietly, he said, "You were right, though; reassurance is more what I was after."

"Great," Ron said. "I'll keep reassuring, then, shall I?"

"By all means," Malfoy drawled, but his smile was grateful. Ron made himself more comfortable on his barrel.

"And while I do that, _you_ can restock, since it's apparently your fault we're here in the first place."

Malfoy's smile vanished:

"Now wait just a moment, Weasley-!"

* * *

They met in the Entrance Hall before the First Task, him with Dora and Stella in tow (Marlene was already down there with the other Aurors involved in the Tournament, and Remus would be arriving with Beauxbatons), and Harry with something of an entourage; he had Ron, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, the twins, Colin Creevey, and Luna Lovegood with him.

Harry had forgone the Walpurgis robes - clearly as big a rebellion as he dared - but wore the black, quilted duelling vest made of dragon hide over a black jumper and black trousers. The vest fit him well - which made Sirius irrationally angry, even if he supposed it was a better alternative than it fitting poorly and getting in the way - and worse, it suited Harry in an awful sort of way, making him look sharp, a little older than he actually was, and a little dangerous. He looked like a Champion.

And, if the angrily resigned look that appeared on his face when he caught Sirius looking was any indication, Harry knew it.

"You don't look bad," Dora offered. "Just a bit… dark." She held Stella out to Harry, and Harry took her, looking down at her little black sleepsuit and the Walpurgis crest emblazoned on it.

"She shouldn't wear that," Harry said, looking panicked. Stella squeaked and grabbed at his glasses. "She-"

"Supporting you's more important than whatever else that stands for," Dora said firmly. "Besides, I dare anyone to take it seriously when I'm waving her out in front of me like a banner." Sirius snorted and Harry let out a startled laugh. Dora winked.

"What she said," Sirius agreed. "About supporting you, not about using my goddaughter as a decoration." He nudged Dora, who grinned. "I-uh- I've got something to wave too." Sirius pulled a little Walpurgis flag out of his back pocket and gave it a halfhearted waggle, grimacing. Harry looked almost as uncomfortable as Sirius felt.

"I almost don't want to say anything now that they've made such a nice attempt to be supportive," Fred said, to no one in particular.

"I do," George replied. "Touching as this all is, our solution's much better."

"Yes, I think so too," Luna said airily. "Besides, they're all clearly miserable with their solution, even if they seem determined to go through with it."

Fred shouldered past Ron to stand beside Harry and pluck the flag from Sirius' hand. He tossed it over his shoulder to George, who cheerfully snapped it in half. Sirius couldn't even pretend to be upset, even if he did feel a little guilty on Harry's behalf. Harry only grinned though, not seeming to mind, though he did twist Stella to the side and out of Fred's reach, as if worried he might start tossing _her_ around next.

Fred didn't. Fred pulled a canvas bag off his shoulder and offered it to Sirius. It rattled oddly.

"Go on, Mr Padfoot," George said.

Warily, Sirius reached into the bag and pulled out something hard, round, and just a little smaller than his palm. It was a badge, he realised, after being relieved that nothing in there had bitten, burned, pinched, or otherwise attacked him. They were black with the silver Walpurgis crest, and silver writing that said _Walpurgis stinks._

Sirius looked up, not sure whether to be amused or horrified by their daring, but Fred nodded at the badge and Sirius glanced down in time to see it change:

The snake inched its head further out of the skull's mouth, increasing the crest's resemblance to the Dark Mark even more, but then a golden lightning bolt struck the snake which retracted and choked the skull. Another flash of lightning, and the whole badge turned gold and instead bore a photo of a rather fierce-looking Harry and the words _Support Harry_. Another flash of lightning - originating from photo-Harry's scar - and the badge reset itself.

Sirius stared at it a moment longer, and then almost stabbed himself in his haste to pin it to his robes.

"You like them then?" Fred asked, looking pleased.

"They're brilliant," Sirius said, as Dora held her hand out for one, reclaimed her daughter from Harry, and then started to wrestle it into place on Stella's outfit to cover the original crest.

"You-" Harry was watching the badge on Sirius' chest with a sort of horrified delight, and no small amount of embarrassment. "Fred, why-"

"Because not all of us were willing to wear something of Tom's, even if it _was_ to support you," Ginny said. Her tone was kind, but unapologetic.

"Technically we'll still be wearing the crest," Hermione said, studying her badge with interest.

"Yeah, but it gets struck by lightning, and we say it stinks, so we thought that was a reasonable compromise." George said passed Dora her own badge.

"I wanted it to say something else," Ginny grumbled.

"I talked her out of it," Luna said. Uncharacteristically, she was frowning, but Sirius didn't think she was actually upset. "Otherwise they wouldn't have been appropriate to wear in a school." Ron chortled.

"Dean Thomas did the artwork and lettering," Colin burst; frankly, Sirius was astounded he'd managed to stay quiet for so long. "And the photo's mine. I took it just after your name came out of the Goblet, Harry." Harry half-smiled, half-grimaced.

"And the spells were us," Fred said, gesturing to himself and George, "but you can thank our gracious sponsor for the idea of badges, the badges themselves-"

"-and the word 'stinks'," George added, giving Draco a nudge. Draco's face was pink, but he looked rather pleased with himself. They all did, actually, with the exception of Hermione, who looked impressed, and Ron, who was still laughing:

"Stinks was you?" Ron asked. Draco's flush deepened. "You?"

"It's a perfectly appropriate word," Draco said, scowling.

"And on that note, we're going to make tracks," Fred said. "Got some merchandise to distribute - we'll see if we can't find Monsieur Moony." He rattled his bag and winked at Harry.

"Knock 'em dead, old bean," George said, clapping Harry on the arm.

"Or not - Charlie'll be after you if you do." Fred ruffled Harry's hair.

Draco was still pink:

"... regardless, I don't see _you_ contributing to Potter's cause."

"I did," Ron said.

"The only thing I can see on you is one of _my_ badges," Draco drawled.

"That's 'cause mine wasn't for me." He nodded at Harry. "Show him."

Harry smiled slightly and unbuckled the side of his vest, then pulled it over his head to reveal his jumper. It was black - which Sirius had known, because the sleeves were visible - but knitted onto the front of it in warm brown wool, was a stag and doe. Sirius' throat suddenly felt very thick.

"Mum did the work, obviously," Ron was saying, ears pink from the stares he was getting. "I wanted it to be Chudley Cannons orange or purple or something, but Hermione found out about it and said it should be black so it matched the rest and wasn't too obvious, just in case they tried to stop him from wearing it."

"And who-?" Sirius gestured at the stag and doe.

"Me," Harry said quietly. He'd handled it well, but Sirius knew Skeeter's mention of James and Lily in her article had upset him; he'd been asking a lot of quiet, nervous questions about Lily and James again of late, and when prompted, Harry'd he was having nightmares about them. More prompting had revealed they weren't about Halloween, as Sirius might have expected, but were instead of locket-Lily-and-James, saying Harry was living on borrowed time and that it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out or he came up against a better opponent. The locket had been trying to upset Sirius when it said those things, but it had clearly made an impression on Harry and it wasn't difficult to see why his subconscious was connecting those words to the Tournament. "I thought it'd be… now they're here too."

"Fitting," Sirius said, and it was, in two ways. For one, they were under something resembling the Dark Mark, which was horribly, uncomfortably appropriate. More than that, though they were between Harry and Voldemort and Sirius kind of liked that; if Lily and James were here, that was exactly where they'd want to be. Sirius doubted either of those things had occurred to Harry on a conscious level; if they had, he'd have asked Molly for something else. No, Sirius suspected Harry was using the stag and doe as a source of comfort, and also a hidden bit of rebellion, and felt a strong surge of affection toward Molly for enabling it.

Harry shrugged back into his vest and refastened it.

"We should probably get going," Hermione said, biting her lip. "I doubt they'll be pleased if you're late, Harry…"

* * *

An enormous arena had been constructed at the edge of the forest, at least three Quidditch pitches long and at least two wide, and almost ten minutes away from the castle where it would not have been easily noticed during construction. Large stands overlooked the whole thing, and each school seemed to have a section; there were the mottled colours of Hogwarts, the red and black of Durmstrang, and the powder blue and silvers of Beauxbatons. Harry had expected Hogwarts to be the larger section, but it was not; the other schools must have arranged for their younger students to have time off to watch.

There was also a fourth section, distinguishable from the mixed colours of Hogwarts only by the number of hats (which students were notoriously bad at wearing), beards, and grey and white hair. They'd be witches and wizards from the Ministry, no doubt, and parents of students, and otherwise curious members of the public.

"We'll get seats," Dora said, shifting Stella to one arm so she could hug Harry tightly. "You've got this."

Ginny hugged him next, then Draco. Colin looked like he might go for a hug too, but thankfully thought better of it with the camera around his neck and settled for an enthusiastic handshake. Luna moved very close to Harry and traced something onto his cheek with her fingers, then patted his other cheek and stepped back.

"Good luck," Draco said, looking very pale and smelling oddly guilty. Ron squeezed him on the shoulder and then moved forward to grab Harry into a hug. He pulled back, and then, with a grin, patted Harry's cheek just as Luna had, startling a laugh out of him. Ron smelled pleased, and Harry thought he'd done it to lighten the mood.

"See you afterward," he said lightly, the same way he did when Draco and Harry went off to Arithmancy without him, though his worried scent detracted from the overall effect.

"Sure," Harry said. Padfoot put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Harry took a deep breath and turned to Hermione, bracing for the inevitable hug-tackle, but it didn't come; she was standing still at his side, the expression on her face one he associated with exams. The others started to move off toward the stands, but she stayed behind.

"Chinese Fireballs, Harry, go," she said.

"One of the bigger breeds," Harry said dutifully. Padfoot squeezed his shoulder again. "Agile on the ground, but less so in the air because they're long and there's more of them to move. Scales."

"And their fire?"

"They can't sustain jets of flame, but they can breathe individual fireballs from their mouths and noses."

"Up to thirty one a minute," Hermione said, nodding. "Swedish Shortsnout?"

"Smallest of the four, dangerously quick in the air and on the ground, but shy, except this one's been at the sanctuary so maybe not. Dragonhide, and really resistant to spells. Really, really hot fire."

"Good, and the Common Welsh-"

"Harry, there you are!" Bagman came jogging up to them. Hermione looked stricken, but Bagman was beaming so he either hadn't heard her or didn't care. "We're waiting for you in the tent!"

Hermione nearly knocked Harry over with the force of her hug, but Padfoot steadied him.

"Remember you control fire better if you give it a bit of freedom," she breathed in his ear, and then she released him and hurried after the others.

Harry fell into step beside Bagman, Padfoot a step behind him, scent grim.

"Great uniform," Bagman said, looking him up and down. "If they're not taking you seriously already, they will be now!" Harry grunted. Bagman shifted a little closer as they walked, with a glance over his shoulder at Padfoot. "Hopefully it's not all for show, eh; you're ready for this, right, Harry?" He sounded oddly nervous.

"Ready as I can be," Harry said, turning slightly to catch Padfoot's eye; Padfoot frowned at the back of Bagman's head.

"Good to hear!" They reached the tent, and Bagman pulled the flap up so Harry could step inside. "Champions only, I'm afraid," he said to Padfoot, who ignored him completely and stepped in after Harry. The tent was oddly quiet; none of the noises from outside seemed able to filter in.

The others were waiting, all wearing trousers and duelling vests in the colours of their respective schools. Cedric's was yellow and black, but with a large Hogwarts crest embroidered onto the back, Fleur wore powdery blue with navy trousers, and Krum in wore blood red with black trousers. None of their vests looked to be dragonhide like Harry's.

Fleur had Madame Maxime's hands on her shoulders and was talking to her Headmistress in rapid French, and, while her eyes flicked to Harry when he entered, she didn't otherwise acknowledge him. Krum was standing beside Karkaroff, his eyes closed, looking like he was trying to remember something or perhaps drown the rest of them out, and Cedric was standing beside Dumbledore, laughing at something the Headmaster had said. He turned to Harry still grinning, sobered a little, and nodded. Harry nodded back.

Dumbledore's eyes slid from over Harry's shoulder - where Padfoot was - to Harry, and he gave him a small, concerned smile. Harry grimaced in return.

"All right, Champions-" Sprottle swept into the tent, clipboard and a small purple bag in hand, but paused at the sight of Padfoot. "Mr Black, I'm afraid you'll need to leave. The briefing tent is for Champions, judges, and school representatives only, else we'll be overrun with family members and friends."

"I'm representing Walpurgis Academy," Padfoot said staunchly.

"Are you?" Sprottle asked, eyes flicking down to the _Walpurgis stinks_ badge on Padfoot's robes.

"All of the other Champions have someone-"

"And so does Mr Potter; I've asked William to act as a representative for Walpurgis. He will stand beside Mr Potter in these meetings, and sit on the panel of Tournament judges." Pemberley - also holding a clipboard - bobbed his head nervously at Harry.

Padfoot was about to argue, Harry could smell it. He stepped gently on Padfoot's foot and shook his head; though he wanted Padfoot there, it was more for support than anything else. He would not be beside Harry in the arena, could not do anything to help him at this late stage. If Voldemort tried anything, it certainly wouldn't be here, where there were almost a dozen witnesses - one of them Dumbledore - so it was outside that Harry needed to worry about; from the stands, Padfoot would be able to see things Harry couldn't, which was surely for the better. A look passed between them; Padfoot upset, Harry grim. Then Padfoot squeezed Harry's shoulder one last time before releasing him.

"Be careful," he said.

"I'll try," Harry murmured back, a little doubtfully.

"There's a tent at the other end of the arena," Sprottle said, her expression sympathetic. "You'll be able to see him there, once his part of the task is complete." Padfoot's expression suggested that he would have been there regardless of whether Sprottle seemed keen to let him, but he nodded and left without comment. Pemberley glanced at the tent flap, then at Harry, then back to the tent flap, and then sidled over to Harry, rather awkwardly.

"Right," Bagman said, when the tent flap had stopped swinging. "First things first… When you hear the whistle, you'll step directly from this tent into a corridor that will let you into the arena, but you'll wait until I've called your name to actually enter. Once _that's_ happened, your time begins." Bagman beamed and rocked back on his heels. "You'll have to find and collect a golden egg, which you've then got to take out again, through a door at the far end of the arena. Your time stops when you pass through that doorway. Sounds easy, right…? But I've not yet mentioned that the egg's going to be guarded…" Harry fought to keep his expression impassive; Draco had been right, or rather, Charlie had been. "Madam Sprottle, if you'd be so kind…" She passed him the purple bag. "Ready to find out what you'll be up against?" He untied it and offered it to Fleur with an excited, "Ladies first."

She slipped her hand inside, and withdrew something rather furtively, examining it for herself first - though Madame Maxime likely had a good view over Fleur's shoulder - before lowering her hands. A tiny model of a green dragon sat in her palms, rustling its wings - the Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck.

Fleur was pale but resolute as she stepped back to allow Krum his turn at the bag.

Krum was scowling as he drew out the Chinese Fireball by its tail (three), and Cedric serious as he looked down at the Shortsnout (one), so it was with some dread but very little surprise that Harry placed his hand into the bag and withdrew the Hungarian Horntail (four). It snapped half-heartedly at his thumb, then curled up in his palm.

"Dragons," Bagman said with a bemused smile; he seemed a little underwhelmed by the reactions.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, watching Cedric's tiny dragon with interest. His eyes flicked to Harry's Horntail and his smile flickered, only to return a moment later. "Dragons. Truly a surprise to us all, I'm sure." His beard twitched and Harry found himself struggling to keep a straight face, despite the seriousness of the situation.

Bagman didn't quite seem to know what to think of that.

"Yes," he said, glancing around. "Well, I've got to go and get ready… judges, you can have a few moments with your Champions, and then you can join me outside and we'll get underway. And no cheating!" A waggle of his finger, and a flash of white teeth and he was gone.

"That's a Hungarian Horntail," Pemberley said quietly.

"Yeah, I- er… I do Care of Magical Creatures," Harry said distractedly; _Horntails: large, agile, scales. Very territorial, aggressive_. _Fire not as hot as a Shortsnout's but they can sustain a jet of flame for much longer, and it's not just the front end that's dangerous; watch out for the tail._ He eyed his miniature dragon, and its mace-like tail.

"Right. So..." Pemberley looked at the other Champions and judges as if hoping for guidance. "Have you got a plan?"

"Not die," Harry said; Pemberley snorted.

"Good plan." He gave Harry a hesitant pat on the shoulder. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were leaving and he gestured after them. "That looks like my cue," he said, seeming equal parts apologetic and relieved. "Good luck, Harry!" He hurried out after them.

Dumbledore was the last to leave, but only by a few seconds.

"Good luck to you all," he said. Harry felt both surprised and disappointed when Dumbledore's eyes didn't linger on him in particular, and then he felt silly for thinking that; he wasn't the Hogwarts Champion, after all, and it wouldn't be fair if Dumbledore paid special attention to Harry over Cedric now. What was there for him to say, anyway, that hadn't been said in the last few weeks?

Krum, Fleur, and Cedric all nodded then went back to their preparation - pacing, sitting, and mumbling, respectively. Dumbledore remained in the tent's doorway a moment longer, adjusting his beard and allowing Harry to catch a glimpse beneath it, where momentarily exposed was what he could have sworn was a _Walpurgis stinks_ badge.

Harry might have talked himself out of it, convinced himself he was seeing things - because surely Dumbledore wouldn't - but Dumbledore winked and shot Harry a fleeting smile before departing.

The whistle blew for Cedric only a minute later, piercing the tense silence in the briefing tent. Cedric caught Harry's eye, grinned nervously, then disappeared through the far flap Bagman had pointed to.

Fleur leapt to her feet and began to pace, twirling her wand over and over in her fingers. Harry ran through the spells he knew in his head, had a fleeting moment of panic where he thought he might have forgotten to open the dormitory window, and felt almost sick and dizzy with nerves and worry and stress.

After what seemed like an eternity - and could very well have been, since Harry had no way of telling the time - the whistle sounded. Fleur jumped like she'd been stung, swung her long silvery braid over one shoulder, and marched out.

She seemed to take an eternity as well - though less of an eternity than Cedric - but it was still far too soon that the whistle blew again.

Krum rolled his shoulders and tilted his head from side to side, then bounced on the spot a few times; it reminded Harry oddly of Wood's pre-match warm up ritual, and Harry supposed that's all this was to Krum; another game, another crowd.

"Good luck," he called over his shoulder as he left. Harry was so surprised that by the time he registered the words and realised he ought to say something back, Krum was long gone.

And then it was just Harry and four miniature dragons; the others had left theirs behind, and Harry tipped his onto the same table, figuring it would only be a distraction in the arena.

He waited, nervous at first and then downright anxious when he realised that if Voldemort wanted to try something, now would be a better time than any; Harry'd heard him talk about using the dragons as a distraction and assumed something would happen while he was in the arena, but now… everyone was well and truly distracted by Krum and the Fireball, and Harry was all alone in a tent that obviously had some sort of sound-proofing charm on it. No one would know, not until Harry failed to walk out when he was called, and even then they'd probably just think he'd run off because of nerves or out of spite. Even Padfoot would probably wonder, at least for a little while.

He palmed his wand and stood where he could keep an eye on both tent flaps.

When the whistle shrilled, Harry jumped about a foot in the air, and half-ran to the tent's exit, figuring the arena had to be better than the oppressively silent and very isolated briefing tent.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, sound rushed back, almost deafeningly loudly; there was cheering and loud chatter, clapping and whistling, and, disturbingly, the pained shrieking of what was surely a dragon... Krum must have got his egg or there wouldn't be so much cheering, but it sounded like he'd hurt his dragon to do it.

Harry reached the door and waited, waited, waited. His heart was pounding already, but as always seemed to be the way with him, he could feel himself calming, focusing; the wait was almost over, and then he'd be able to do something.

For better or for worse, it would all be over soon. He gripped his wand.

"Now," Bagman said, "let's see how our fourth and final Champion goes… Harry Potter!"

Harry took a deep breath and let himself into the arena as the crowd erupted above him.


	25. The First Task

The Horntail was nowhere in sight, which was something of a relief. The arena had high walls, easily two storeys high, upon which the slope of seating began. In intervals along the bottom of the arena's walls were witches and wizards standing ready - dragon-keepers, Harry assumed - and the arena itself was not flat, which was sort of what Harry'd been expecting, but rocky, with outcrops and trees and enormous boulders. He couldn't currently see the exit door.

Harry didn't waste any time on his surroundings beyond that; he lifted his wand, concentrated, and murmured, " _Accio Nimbus."_

"Didn't quite catch that, and can't see anything happening, but Potter doesn't look worried, so it must be part of the plan!"

Knowing he'd have about a minute of waiting, Harry did his best to tune out the crowd and listen…

A few moments later, he heard her; the rustle of scales, the slow, dull thud of an enormous heartbeat, and the restless scrape of what he thought was probably her tail.

Harry picked his way in her direction, steps as careful and considered as if he was under his invisibility cloak, ears pricked for any movement or sound from the Horntail that might suggest she knew he was there.

"So that makes two for stealth," Bagman said jovially. "Slow and not particularly exciting, but Diggory's shown us it can be effective, and Potter's had the same teachers, plus whatever he's learned at Walpurgis…" A soft whooshing sound caught his attention and Harry held his hand out expectantly. "Hang on a second-" The moment Harry's Nimbus thudded into his palm, Harry wrapped a leg around it and took off vertically, then twisted sharply to level out in line with the first row of seat. "-ladies and gentlemen, will you look at this!?"

From his new vantage point, Harry could see the whole of the arena. He could see the door at the far end of it, and see the large, black dragon watching him with slitted yellow eyes, see the glint of gold in the nest she was wrapped around…

" _Accio golden egg,"_ he murmured. It didn't move.

"Right," Harry muttered, and drifted forward.

The Horntail just watched him unimpressed, each flick of her tail leaving deep scores in the rocky ground. She made a rather nasty hissing sound and let loose a burst of fire when she'd deemed him close enough; he rolled easily to avoid it, but the sheer heat of it took him temporarily back to the forest with Wormtail and the Fiendfyre.

Harry edged closer, dodging the next burst of fire on instinct and eyeing the egg; it was tucked almost completely under a protective wing and between her two, nastily clawed feet, which meant it'd be almost impossible to get to...

 _You're going to have to move,_ Harry thought, and with that in mind urged his broom forward with the sole intention of being as annoying as possible; he worked in and out around her head and feinted occasionally toward her nest, staying just out of reach as he spiralled and twisted and rolled to avoid her flames, and the occasional sweep of her deadly tail, taking grim satisfaction in the increasingly agitated sounds she was making.

"Merlin's beard, he can fly!" Bagman cried. "Mr Krum, I hope you're watching this!"

It didn't take long for her to uncurl, and for her long neck to snake up after him, snapping and snarling and hissing between bouts of flame. Harry sank a few feet and then shot back up, higher than she could reach. She huffed more fire at him and he moved forward this time, and then sharply back. Next, was side to side, then side to side again, then down then up.

With a furious screech she unfurled her wings and stood, and that was all Harry needed; he put his wand between his teeth, dove straight down and between her front legs, pulling up tightly and scooping the egg from the nest as Bagman and the crowd roared. Harry twisted, emerging from her underside between her front and back legs - rather than risk her tail - and saw orange magic crawling across the sky, and heard the crowd's tone change from ecstatic to confused and a bit afraid.

 _Voldemort_ , Harry thought, and tucked the egg against his side so he had a hand free to hold his wand, even as he levelled out just below the top of the arena's wall and his eyes darted frantically around; he recognised the magic. It looked like an _Avea apara_ dome, which meant he was trapped in the arena, and-

Something hit him, _hard_ and painful from the side and sent him spinning from the force of it - a Bludgeoning Curse, perhaps - and there was a gasp from the stands, which didn't make sense; if Voldemort or his Death Eaters were here the crowd should have more pressing things to do than still be watching him… So perhaps he wasn't.

Regardless, Harry had more pressing things to do than worry about the masses or even potential Death Eaters; he hurt where he'd been hit - not a spell, but the Horntail's tail, he realised - and he was still spinning; he wasn't losing any height, but he had no control and too much speed and peripherally, he could see rushing fire-

"Oh," Bagman sounded ill. "Oh, no-"

" _Avea apara!"_ Harry said desperately, and his own dome sprang into being just in time; at certain points each spin, he could see the Horntail's fire flaring harmlessly against it-

 _CRACK!_ Another spin brought Harry hard into the wall of his dome and the spinning stopped because his Nimbus had stopped and then Harry was falling-

" _Mollis Impulsum,"_ Harry gasped, and hit the newly soft ground in a roll that brought him back to his feet, a bit dazed and with pain shooting down his injured side, but still clutching his wand and the egg. His Nimbus bounced to a stop by his feet, sparks fizzing out of a long crack through the length of the handle and seat. Sadness twisted his insides.

The Horntail let out a roar and threw herself at the dome, startling him. She bounced off, and then tried again, this time jumping onto it, clawing and biting furiously. Harry took a moment to get his bearings, to notice that the dragon-keepers were still mostly in place around the arena's perimeter, and that, while orange magic still blanketed the top of the arena, there didn't seem to be any spells flying either in with him or out there. Definitely no Death Eaters then.

He cancelled his own dome and took off running toward the door.

The sharpness of the pain made Harry sure at least a couple of his ribs were broken, but he'd had broken ribs before and he'd run with them before and he'd only been eleven then, so he had no excuse for doing any differently now.

The noises the crowd were making warned him of the next jet of fire before he even heard the sound of it or started to feel the heat; he spun, ready with a watery wall.

In the Room, that same spell had completely stopped any flames Ron or Hermione could throw at it. Here, it did stop the flames, but the water exploded back at him at force, boiling and steaming. Harry threw up a normal Shield Charm to protect himself from the worst of it, then dodged to the side and behind a rocky outcrop as the Horntail lunged through. She careened past Harry, but her tail demolished the outcrop. Harry'd have been buried in stone if he'd still been there, but he hadn't stopped, and he could see the door now, it wasn't far, and the Horntail was still turning around...

He dove through it, bouncing off the inner wall and to the floor with a gasp of pain, and then orange magic flared behind him - another dome - and there were furious screeches coming from back in the area and the crowd was cheering, and it was over.

Harry stayed where he was, sore and panting on the ground, and was still there several minutes later when Padfoot burst into the corridor, white as a sheet, with Moony and McGonagall in tow.

* * *

Peter stood in the aisle while the Dark Lord sat in the front row of the Ministry, parents, and public section, in the empty seat that matched the ticket Crouch had sent them. He gave the wispy haired witch beside his Lord a thoughtful look, then looked back over the railing and into the arena below.

It had been cleared of dragons and the dragon handlers had been swapped out for Aurors - all except for Charlie Weasley, who loitered by McKinnon near one of the tunnel entries, likely waiting to hear Harry's results - and was now occupied by the judges, Champions, and - predictably - Sirius, who had a white-knuckled grip on Harry's shoulder and looked ready to hex the first person that told him to stand elsewhere.

"Is he a judge?" Peter asked.

The Dark Lord gave him a coolly amused look, then returned his attention to the arena. Peter would have liked to scowl, but didn't dare, not with the Dark Lord right there.

The year before when he'd been based at Hogwarts, it had been wise for him to not know much about Crouch; if he'd been caught - which he almost had been several times - he wouldn't be able to give him away. Now, though, when Peter had returned and was based solely at the Dark Lord's side again, he didn't think there was any good reason for him _not_ to know. _Polkov_ had known, had taken great pleasure in rubbing that in, but Peter did not; he suspected it was punishment for failing to bring Harry in when he'd brought in the Cloak, or maybe for killing Polkov at the World Cup (even though there was no disputing that it had been unavoidable).

"Well," Bagman said, as Dumbledore and Karkaroff transfigured the rocky arena ground into a large, stone platform. "I think you'll all agree with me when I say that was an _exciting_ start to the Tournament, eh?!" A cheer went up, and Peter found himself clapping politely along with the rest of them before realising how foolish that was and stopping. "You've had us all on the edges of our seats!" Bagman was addressing the Champions directly now; Krum looked bored, but Delacour seemed to be basking in the attention and Diggory grinned and waved. Harry was a bit pale, and very obviously favouring one side, but - while he didn't look _happy_ exactly - his mouth kept curling up, especially whenever Sirius leaned forward to say something, or he turned toward the part of the Hogwarts stand that held four red heads, two platinum ones, a bushy brown one, a flashing rainbow one, and a very tiny almost bald one. "I for one, am particularly interested to see what you get up to in the next three tasks."

A cheer of approval went up, but there was a distinctly confused undertone to it, and all four Champions turned sharply toward Bagman, Harry slightly slower than the others, because he'd - typically - looked at Sirius first.

"No, no, I haven't misspoken. Next _three_ tasks." A murmured raced around the stands. The judges and Champions looked variously surprised and excited, except for Harry, who'd set his jaw and was not quite scowling (though it was a very near thing). In his dark uniform, it was quite an intimidating look; Peter shivered and curled his remaining fingers over what was left of his palm. "We've got a fourth Champion, so we thought we'd add in a fourth task and make this Tournament one for the history books!"

The crowd cheered again.

"M-my Lord?" The Dark Lord did not look away from the arena, but a twitch told Wormtail he was listening. "Did we know about this?"

" _I_ did," he said, and let out a chilling sound of amusement; Harry was looking particularly displeased.

"Does it change any-"

"No."

"So-"

"Be quiet, Wormtail," he hissed, and Peter fell silent; Crouch was surely the one who'd told the Dark Lord, so who was he to be in a position to know? Someone of importance in the Tournament organisers, like the stern witch in plum robes, or the young man beside her? Bagman? Someone behind the scenes - one of the task designers, or perhaps the custodian of the Goblet of Fire? An Auror, tasked with the Tournament's security? One of the Ministry officials overseeing the transport of the other schools to and from the tasks - Merlin knew he had a knack for Portkeys. Or was he none of them, and just using one of them, through the Imperius, or through blackmail, or maybe he'd found someone to help him willingly...

"Judges, anything to add before we go any further…?" The witch in plum robes waved her hand at Bagman. "No? All right. So. Scores…" Bagman seemed to bounce on the spot. "Each judge-" He gestured to himself, Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime, the stern witch, and the young, scholarly looking wizard in quick succession. "-will give you a score out of ten. Not only will these scores determine your rank in the Tournament so far, but they'll also determine how much of an advantage you get in the second task. The number of points you get will determine the number of years of experience you can take with you next time... " Bagman trailed off cryptically, then rubbed his hands together. "I'll explain more later - what you need to know _now_ is your scores! Mr Diggory-" A roar from the Hogwarts section. "-step forward, would you?"

Diggory adjusted his hold on his golden egg and stepped forward, grin returning.

"Judges…" Bagman and the other five judges lifted their wands, each shooting a silvery ribbon into the sky, which rapidly formed into a number: "A six, an eight, a six, a seven, a nine, and an eight, for a total of forty-four points!" The clapping was deafening. Peter resisted the urge to cover his sensitive ears, and then - again - realised he was being foolish and did so. "We liked the stealth... very effective, good use of a Disillusionment Charm, and Silencing Charms, _great_ use of the dog when you got close enough for it to smell and hear you, but slow - _very_ slow - and… well, a bit _boring_ , given we couldn't see you." Hogwarts booed, but the other schools jeered and cheered. Diggory frowned. "Still-" Bagman continued, and everyone fell silent. "-you got your egg, and you didn't get injured doing it, so it was a good result." He clapped Diggory on the shoulder, and waved him away. "Miss Delcour!"

Delacour glided forward with a twitch of her head that would likely have made her braid move alluringly… except Peter had watched it burn off less than an hour ago, and all she had left was a singed, rather uneven bob. If she was even slightly self-conscious of it, or her scorched uniform, it didn't show, and she had no right to be; she was -somehow - still stunning.

"Judges… A seven, a seven, a six, an eight, a seven, and a seven… Forty two points!" She curtseyed to overwhelming applause. "Much more interesting than Diggory, and a very, very effective Sleeping charm-" Delacour was practically glowing. "-but you should have thought about where your dragon was; you lost a _lot_ of time trying to get your egg out from under her, _and_ you were burned in the process - not badly, but even so... Still, you weren't the slowest and you got your egg - a good effort!"

Delacour smiled and returned to her place and the deafening applause that accompanied her there transferred to Krum as he was called forward.

"Judges… A seven, a six, a ten, a five, a six, and a seven… Forty one points!" Krum waited patiently, smug but otherwise apparently oblivious to the crowd's carrying on. "You were the quickest of the Champions, and you weren't injured at all, but you _did_ injure your dragon… and we get it - life or death situation, right, so you do what you have to… but _she_ then took out the rest of her nest, and that's not sitting well with a lot of people… you're lucky the dragon keepers aren't up here scoring you!" Bagman chortled at his own joke. "So… got your egg and quickly, but at a cost.

"And last but certainly _not_ least, Mr Potter!" The announcement was met with a surprising amount of noise considering Harry was representing a school with no representatives in the audience. Cheering from Hogwarts was to be expected, but the other schools and the Ministry stands were equally loud.

Peter glanced at his Lord, but he had eyes only for the arena.

"Judges… A nine, a seven, a six, a seven, a seven and an eight! Forty four!" Harry looked torn between startled, pleased, and aggrieved. Sirius was patting him on the back encouragingly. The Dark Lord shifted in his seat and leaned slightly forward, intent. "What. A. Show," Bagman said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry winced and put a hand to his ribs, and Sirius twitched, then aborted whatever movement he'd been about to make; probably shove Bagman away, Peter thought. "Heart in my throat the whole time, and I don't think I'm alone in that! Fastest to get the egg, second fastest overall, by far the most original tactic, and it would have been a successful one if the dragon keepers hadn't spooked you putting the crowd-protecting spells up." Bagman made a show of sobering. "Now, you lost your broom, and you took a few bad hits, but you found a way to keep going, you thought on your feet under incredible pressure, you defended yourself against _a dragon_ , and you got out with your egg!" He yanked Harry's arm into the air and the crowd burst into thunderous applause. The Dark Lord clapped slow and considering beside Peter. Down in the arena, Harry looked uncomfortable, and not, Peter didn't think, solely because of his ribs. "Incredible!" He thumped Harry on the back and then turned toward the judges. Harry slipped away to Sirius' side. "So, again, ladies and gentlemen, what a task! We have Walpurgis and Hogwarts tied for first place, Beauxbatons in second, and Durmstrang in third!"

"Wormtail," the Dark Lord said, as Bagman started to rattle off other details - the date of the next task, that the Champions and their school representatives needed to stay at the arena for a meeting and further explanation about the next task...

"I-" Peter was torn between being eager to escape the noise, and disappointed to be leaving what was - by far - the most interesting and exciting thing to happen to him in months. "Yes, My Lord." He bent and gathered his Lord up, and then they were moving up, up, up-

Peter settled his Lord back into his chair by the fireplace - Nagini hissed a greeting which his Lord returned - and ensured he was settled in the nest of his Cloak, then busied himself packing up the pensieve.

* * *

"Right," Harry said tiredly, "so-" The door to Padfoot's quarters opened and he fell silent, giving it a wary look. So did everyone else.

It was only Moony, who slipped inside, shut the door securely behind him, and greeted them all - Padfoot and Harry's friends with a wave and murmured greeting, Dora with a kiss on the cheek, Stella with a squeeze of her fingers and a silly face, and Harry last of all, with a warm hand on the shoulder and a rather wan smile. Fred and George had found him, it seemed; he wore robes in Dumstrang blue, but pinned to them was one of the _Walpurgis stinks_ badges.

"Yeah," Padfoot said, "that about sums it up. I'm going grey, Moony, look."

"I've been grey for years," Moony said, unsympathetic. "It's my heart giving out that I'm worried about." Harry wasn't sure what his face looked like, but it prompted Moony to add, "You did well, Harry, it just-"

"-wasn't easy to watch," Dora finished for him.

"Understatement, you reckon?" Ron mused aloud, earning a shaky laugh from Hermione and a snort from Ginny. Draco was silent.

"Sit down, Remus," Dora said, patting the couch beside her. "Harry was just about to tell us what he knows about the second task." Harry could tell from the look on Moony's face that it wouldn't be news to him; he'd been waiting for Fleur and Madame Maxime when the meeting ended, and so had likely already been filled in. But, he sat obligingly, tugging Stella away from Dora so he could bounce her on his knees. She gurgled and waved her little fists around.

"Right," Harry said again, "so- er- they're going to hold it on the last day of term, right before Christmas."

"That's less than a month away!" Hermione exclaimed.

"We had less than a month to get ready for this one," Ron reminded her.

"I suppose," she said, but looked worried.

"Do you know much about it?" Ginny asked.

"A bit," Harry said. "What Bagman said down in the arena about scores and years of experience… I get to take people with me this time. Forty four years worth, apparently."

"So Black and… a first year? How old are you?" Draco asked, turning to Padfoot.

"Draco!" Hermione said, while Moony and Ron chortled.

"Old enough that adding a first year would bring us above forty four," Padfoot said. "Not that it matters, anyway." He shot Harry an unhappy glance.

"No teachers allowed," Harry said. Everyone was frowning at that, except for Moony who looked relieved but unsurprised; doubtless he had imagined having to compete alongside Fleur and against Harry and Padfoot. "And our experience has to come from our school - they want it to be Hogwarts against Durmstrang against Beauxbatons against Walpurgis." He cast a dark look at his duelling vest, which lay discarded on a side table, a bit scuffed but otherwise unscathed, despite the Horntail's tail.

"So… students?" Hermione asked.

"Students," Harry agreed.

"But there aren't any students from Walpurgis," Ron said.

"No," Padfoot said, mouth turning down.

"I asked Pemberley about that," Harry said, sure his expression was much the same as Padfoot's, "and he said he'd talk to Sprottle, see if they can make an exception that lets me pick from Hogwarts students instead." He couldn't quite look at them as he said it, because he knew - given his pick of Hogwarts students - who he'd want alongside him. He didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to ask them, but he thought (hoped) they'd offer, and he didn't think he had it in him to make much more than a token protest.

"That'll make things easier," Ron said. "Still, might be worth going back to your registry woman in Singapore, Hermione…"

"Yes," Hermione said, with a nod and expression that suggested she'd just added something to a mental checklist. "Draco? Ginny?"

"Forty four, Hermione," Ron said, a little uncertainly. Moony, Dora, and Padfoot were all frowning too. "That's three of us, not four. Sorry, Ginny." Ginny looked both relieved and annoyed.

"Yes," Hermione said, rather patiently, "but depending on how they count our ages… Are you fourteen, or are you fourteen and nine months? If it's the second option, then it _can't_ be all of us." She cast Padfoot and the other adults a quick look, then put her hand to the side of her neck. Ron and Draco both made soft noises of understanding almost immediately, but it took Harry a moment longer to realise that was where the scar from her timeturner splinching was. "I'm older, remember?"

And she was. They didn't know exactly how much time she'd accumulated last year, but Hermione'd tried to count out the hours over the summer, apparently, and had said she thought it was just over six months.

"Can you find out?" Draco asked, looking at Harry. "How they're counting it."

Harry nodded slowly; Bagman always seemed keen to chat, and failing that, Pemberley was now the Walpurgis representative. Surely he'd be able to get it out of one of them.

"Excellent," Hermione said briskly. "You do that, Harry, and then we can work out ages and who's going with you."

Harry'd been wrong; his throat felt too thick with gratitude to make even a token protest.


	26. Picking Partners

"It's got to be you, Granger, and She-Weasley," Draco said, keeping his voice low, even though Potter and Granger were on the complete other side of the paddock; Granger's Skrewt had seemed to sense a chance at freedom and taken off with her barely holding on. Potter and Hagrid were doing their best to help her. He and Weasley would have been over there too, but they had their own Skrewt to deal with.

"Ginny can't," Weasley said distractedly, "she's only a third year."

"What?" Comprehension dawned. "No, not the-" Draco shook his head, exasperated; the Yule Ball had been announced two nights earlier, and Weasley had been quiet, and strangely preoccupied since. Granger was excited but between Weasley's strange mood, Draco's utter lack of interest in the whole affair, and Potter seeming to view it as an unofficial fifth task he'd have to grit his teeth and get through, she hadn't able to instigate much genuinely interested conversation about it and tended to save it for when she was around other people. "For the _task_ ," Draco said.

"Oh." Weasley nodded and twisted out of the way of their Skrewt, which had begun to eye his shoes with unnerving intent. "Yeah, right, well, Hermione's a given. Harry'd be stupid not to take her with him." He glanced across the paddock, where, as if to prove his point, Granger had her wand out and had used it quite successfully to subdue her errant charge. Harry was holding his wand like he wanted to hex it, and was giving Hagrid a genuine but rather pained smile. "And Ginny sort of has to, because she's the only one young enough to fit with Hermione and one of us-"

"With you," Draco said. "I've decided." Weasley frowned. Draco matched his expression, suddenly uncertain. "Do you not want to-"

"'course I do!" Weasley said, then sagged a little. "I just- This is about getting Harry through, right? So if you're the better choice, it should be you."

"In what world am I the better choice?" Draco asked, nudging the sinisterly curious Skrewt away with his foot. He glanced around again, but the nearest people to them were Longbottom and Finnegan, who were trying to coax their wrestling Skrewts apart. "I'm compromised, remember?"

"You're not _really_ , though," Weasley said patiently. "We know whose side you're on, and anything you do that makes it look otherwise is just to pass a test-"

"And where better to test my loyalty than in a very public arena?" Draco snapped. He'd discussed it with Severus the night before, at the conclusion of his Occlumency lesson. It had not been a fun conversation.

"He wouldn't have you do anything obvious, though," Weasley said. "Would he? He'd probably just want information again-"

"Possibly. Severus thought it unlikely I'd be asked to sabotage Potter directly." Draco couldn't quite meet Weasley's eye. "But who's to say he wouldn't ask me to sabotage one of the others? Confund them, or 'accidentally' have them take a fall, or trip into the path of a spell or some sort of dangerous creature."

"When you say others, do you mean the other Champions, or do you mean Ginny and Hermione-?" Weasley glanced over his shoulder.

"I mean anyone in the arena that's not Potter," Draco said tiredly.

There was a pause, silent but for the sounds of their struggling classmates, and their Skrewt tearing at the grassy ground.

"Would you?" Weasley asked eventually, looking a little pale under his freckles.

"I don't know," Draco said, voice coming out smaller than he'd intended. "If I knew it'd kill them, then of course not, but- if they were going to come out of it with a bruise and no lasting damage…? Probably." He wasn't proud of it, but he'd made his peace with it with Severus last night… sort of. "But how can I guarantee that's the case? And where do I draw the line? If a bruise is okay, is a cut? Is a sprain, a fracture, a break? What about causing them pain?" Weasley's expression tightened a bit at that - he knew pain. "Emotional distress-"

"You're making _me_ emotionally distressed." Draco didn't know if Weasley was trying to be funny, or just being honest.

"Good," Draco said. "You and I both, now."

"I did say we were in this together," Weasley muttered, and sighed. Then, he scooted out of the way of their Skrewt's lashing tail. "Blimey." Draco wasn't sure if he'd said that last in response to their unpleasant charge, or to Draco's situation. "Okay, so we keep you out. What do we tell Harry?"

* * *

As it turned out, _they_ didn't tell Harry anything. _Malfoy_ told Harry, _as well as_ Hermione and Ginny that it ought to be Ron going in with him.

"I've been thinking about it-" Malfoy's voice was low, though Ron thought the chances of anyone hearing him over the dinner-time noise was slim; further down the table, Fred and George were cackling at something Lee had said, and Fleur Delacour was shoving her very short hair back behind her ears, and irritatedly proclaiming that it would take _weeks_ to grow back to its original length. "-and I think I'm the one who should sit out. Granger's got to go, obviously, and out of the two of us, Weasley's the better choice. He's a better duellist than I am, has a good head for strategy, he knows the wizarding world in an intrinsic way that you two-" He gestured at Harry and Hermione. "-just don't - no offence. And he knows all sorts of useful little spells thanks to his extracurricular studies."

Harry, for his part, didn't look overly surprised; Ron had admitted to him over the summer that he'd been reading some of Bill's old spellbooks, trying to make himself less useless. Ginny frowned, but it smoothed quickly into a look of comprehension; she'd caught him both over the summer in Bill and Charlie's old room (dozens of times), and at Hogwarts, sneaking off to the Room in the early hours of the morning (only once, because Ron had worked out how to create a passage directly from the boys' dorms shortly afterward). Hermione did look surprised. Only for a second though, because then her curiosity caught up with her:

"Extracurricular studies?" she asked. She was looking at Ron rather than Malfoy, which Ron thought was a bit unfair; Malfoy had started this, so he ought to be the one fielding questions. "On what?"

"Just… stuff," Ron muttered. He was sure his ears were pink.

Hermione frowned a little but didn't interrogate him further, for which Ron was grateful.

"Well," she said at last, returning her attention to her dinner. "If there's anything useful, add it to the blackboard in the Room so we-" She waved the hand that wasn't holding her fork at herself, Harry, Ginny, and Malfoy. "-can work on it."

"Sure," Ron said, and then returned to his own dinner. The others did the same, and when he thought they were suitably occupied, he kicked Malfoy under the table. Malfoy gave him a look that was somehow equal parts smug and innocent. Ron kicked him again.

Harry glanced up then, eyes flicking between them, but he didn't say anything.

Not then, anyway. He waited until after dinner, when Hermione had disappeared to the library and Malfoy had slunk after Snape, and he and Ron were alone, heading back up to the Room:

"What's going on with you and Draco?" Harry asked. "Why's he scheming to get you into the task instead of him, and why are you letting him?"

"Like he said," Ron said, willing himself to sound casual, "I've been doing extra stuff, so I'm- er- better?" It came out sounding like a question.

"You think you're better than Draco?" Harry asked, not with skepticism, but like he thought he'd misheard and wanted Ron to repeat himself.

"Er… at this, a bit?" Harry snorted.

"Shove off, Harry," Ron said, and gave him a good-natured push to make his point.

"I know there's something more to it," Harry said. "Draco doesn't talk himself down much, and you're modest, only before..."

"I- yeah, but-"

"Ron," Harry said, cutting him off, tone firm but serious. Ron fell silent, actually glad for the interruption, because he hadn't known what to say. When Harry spoke next, his voice was entirely different; quiet, and worried, and uncertain: "Is he all right?"

"Yeah," Ron said, immediately, and Harry relaxed slightly. Ron let out a gusty breath. "He's- it's- his dad." Harry's mouth curled down, but he didn't look surprised; Ron wondered what he was imagining. Ron picked his next words carefully; Harry would be able to smell it if he wasn't being honest. "He- I don't know all the details, but I know a bit. He- they're on… decent terms at the moment. Malfoy and his dad. And if Malfoy's in the task with you, it might look like he's chosen sides. I mean, he _has_ , but it's not safe for him to be obvious about it. Not for something like this, where the whole world's watching. Mr Malfoy would er… well-"

"Yeah," Harry said, and lifted his glasses to rub at his eyes. "That- yeah. Okay." They made it up another flight of stairs in silence, then Harry asked, "He- was- why didn't just he say that? Why that little show at dinner?"

That, at least, was easy to answer:

"He didn't want you to worry. It's all under control, and- well, you've got enough to worry about." It was the wrong thing to say; Harry visibly sagged, his expression a miserable mix of guilty and exhausted.

"Right," Harry said tiredly. "Yeah, okay."

"He's not worried about what you would think," Ron said, taking a guess at what had upset him, "or that you wouldn't understand." Something in Harry's demeanour did seem to ease at that, but he still looked incredibly tired. Was he sleeping, Ron wondered? _R_ on was, so exhausted from all their additional training, but was Harry? "He just- you've got you to worry about-"

"And you and Hermione and Ginny," Harry said heavily, "since you're coming with me this time."

"Have you met Ginny and Hermione?" Ron asked, nudging him. "Don't worry _for_ them, worry for anyone that goes up _against_ them." That coaxed a small, tired smile out of Harry. "We'll be all right," Ron said genuinely. "We've made it through worse with less notice." And they had, multiple times.

"Can't argue with th-" Harry fell silent, turning to glance behind them. Ron heard footsteps a moment later and then Diggory came into view, alone, heading toward them with nervous purpose.

Ron glanced at Harry, trying to gauge if he'd been expecting Diggory or not, and was surprised at how entirely Harry had transformed. Letting Ron see how worn out he was was clearly acceptable, but he obviously wasn't comfortable with Diggory seeing the same; Harry stood taller than he had before, weariness tucked away behind polite curiosity.

"Potter, a word," Diggory said, nodding briefly at Ron before flashing Harry a small smile.

"Sure," Harry said, shrugging, but didn't move. Diggory glanced at Ron.

"In private? It's- about the Yule Ball, and it's a bit… erm… sensitive." Ron's eyebrows shot up. Harry looked equally bewildered, but shrugged at Ron and trailed after Diggory, the two of them going to speak further down the corridor.

Ron watched them, wondering if perhaps Diggory had some sort of intel about the Ball relating to the Tournament? Or perhaps… Surely Diggory wasn't going to _ask_ …

Ron suddenly wished he had Malfoy's ability to understand a conversation without being able to hear it:

Diggory said something - looking both nervous and hopeful - and Harry blinked, seemed to laugh a little, and then nodded. He waved a hand in an oddly dismissive way, but Diggory lit up with a pleased sort of relief. Harry shook his head, smiling, said something else, and then headed back toward Ron, expression amused. So Harry wasn't upset, or embarrassed by whatever had just happened. That was good. But what _had_ happened?

Ron wasn't sure _what_ to ask, and settled for raising his eyebrows at Harry.

"He wanted to know if he could take Cho to the Ball without me taking it as a declaration of war or something," Harry said, still looking amused.

" _Oh_ ," Ron said. "Blimey, from here it looked a bit like he was asking _you_." Harry grinned and shook his head.

"You told him he could?"

"He's already asked her, and she's said yes," Harry said. "He wasn't looking for permission, just didn't want to upset me-"

"You're not upset, though, right? You and Chang-"

"Merlin, no," Harry said fervently. "Better him than me."

"You thought about who you _are_ going to take, then?" Ron asked.

"Not really," Harry said, his amusement fading a little. "I've sort of been too preoccupied to fancy anyone." He laughed, sounding stressed. "Thought I might ask Hermione, just as friends." Ron felt something inside him wince, protest, wither, sigh, huff, and recoil all at once. He didn't have a name for it - probably because it was too many feelings all at once - but Harry gave him a sharp, curious look that softened into a sort of thoughtfulness. "Er… or not," he said. Ron looked at him, relieved and grateful and red-eared with embarrassment.

"It's not like that," Ron said weakly. "It's- I don't- I just- When Dumbledore announced it, it sounded really- well, like it'd be hard work, only with Hermione it wouldn't be. Y'know? We already know each other, and we always have things to talk about… It'd be fun."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly. "I s'pose I'll figure something else out, then." He cocked his head at Ron. "When are you going to ask her?"

"Dunno," Ron said, suddenly feeling defensive, though he knew he had no reason to. "Soon." Harry still looked curious and thoughtful though, not like he was going to give Ron a hard time for being nervous. "I just- I'm working up to it."

"All right." Harry wore the same amused look he had when he was speaking to Diggory. "You'd better get a move on, though. If Romilda Vane or that giant fifth year ask me again, there's a good chance I'll ask Hermione just to be free of them…"

* * *

"Hermione," Ginny said, trailing after her, "you're worrying me a bit…"

Hermione ignored her and pushed open the door to her dormitory, where, as she'd hoped, Parvati and Lavender were lounging on their beds, chatting about the Yule Ball; Hermione hadn't heard them talk about much else since it was announced. Excited as she was, it was wearing thin… or had been, because right now, that was _exactly_ what Hermione needed to talk about.

"Hermione-"

"Can you keep a secret?" Hermione asked, almost desperately.

"Me?" Ginny asked, with an odd little smile. "Hermione-"

"I know _you_ can," Hermione said, but then turned to her housemates. "Lavender? Parvati? Please?"

"Of course, Hermione," Parvati said.

"Depends on the secret," Lavender said, but she patted the end of her bed, and Hermione sank down onto it.

"Promise?" she said, and Parvati moved her feet to make room for Ginny.

"Obviously," Lavender said, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Granger," she said, and poked Hermione in the side with her sock-covered toe, "spill."

"Viktor's asked me to the Yule Ball," Hermione said, feeling both dazed and guilty. The others looked blank. "Krum. Viktor Krum."

"What!?" Lavender dove forward to fling her arms around Hermione's shoulders, and Parvati squealed from the next bed. Ginny gaped at her.

"You said yes, didn't you?!" Parvati asked, giving her a little shake.

"I- yes." Hermione was blushing, she could feel it. "I did, but maybe- I don't know if I should have-"

"Why? Don't you want to?" Parvati's excitement vanished at once, replaced by concern.

"No, I do!" Hermione said. "I just- I don't know if Harry will be… He doesn't care about winning, and Viktor's not been rude to him, but they're still competing against each other-"

"Can we just go back a bit to how you know Krum?!" Ginny interrupted. She looked pleased, but still a little stunned.

"I gave him Harry's message before the first task," Hermione said, hoping Lavender and Parvati wouldn't ask questions about that.

"You left him an anonymous note," Ginny said. "That's very different from being on first name, going-to-the-Yule-Ball-together terms."

"We'd talked before then," Hermione said, embarrassed. "And we've talked a few times since-"

"About what?" Lavender asked, apparently fascinated.

"Well, the first time was about Harry," Hermione admitted. Lavender's face fell - she'd likely expected something more exciting. Parvati nodded like that made sense, and Ginny looked a little dangerous. "He worked out pretty quickly that I wasn't going to tell him anything helpful, and he hasn't asked since."

"Good," Ginny said, voice firm but cautious. "You deserve better than someone trying to use you to get information about Harry."

"It's not about that at all," Hermione assured her. "We mostly talked about books, and our schools, and spells… He's- he's very clever, and well-read, and he knows some fascinating magic, and he's very comfortable in the spotlight, obviously, but he'd actually much rather people left him alone-"

"Not if those people are you, obviously," Parvati said. Hermione felt her cheeks heat up, and Ginny sniggered.

"So you don't think I've made a mistake?" Hermione asked.

" _No_ ," Lavender said. "You're going to the Ball with _Krum_! Unless he somehow turns out to be a complete creep-"

"He's not!" Hermione said indignantly. Other than the time he'd startled her by grabbing her wrist - which _she_ hadn't even known would startle her, and he'd realised and apologised almost immediately - he'd been a perfect gentleman.

"-then how in Merlin's name could it be a mistake?" Parvati nodded in agreement.

"Harry won't mind," Ginny said, and Hermione gave her a grateful look. "If you're really worried, ask him… but like you said, he doesn't care about winning and Krum's not gone out of his way to be a prat. The only thing Harry _might_ worry about - and actually, now that I think of it, I'm a bit worried about it too - is whether you'll be willing to hex Krum in the second task."

"Why would I need to hex him?" Hermione asked, scowling.

"Because he _does_ want to win, so he'll be going for us, and we can't afford to be out of action." Ginny wore a flinty look. "Harry's going to have enough to worry about so if it's Krum or us, it's going to have to be him." She cocked her head. "Are you going to be up for that?"

"I don't think I have much choice," Hermione sighed; Ginny made a lot of sense.

"That's the spirit," Ginny said. "Honestly, I think I'll just go for him from the start so it's not an issue - I'm not sure I trust Ron to be able to take him out either." Lavender and Parvati both laughed, but Hermione thought Ginny was being completely serious. "I'll be gentle, though - I wouldn't want to upset him and ruin your night."

"Honestly, if that would upset him enough to take it out on me, this probably won't work," Hermione said _,_ but she was suddenly worried; _would_ it upset him? Surely, if Ginny - a third year - was able to land a spell or two, he'd admire her for it rather than sulk? Surely he wouldn't begrudge them - as Harry's friends - doing whatever it took to help Harry? She chewed her lip.

"I wouldn't worry, Hermione," Parvati said, "he's older and more mature than the idiots we go to lessons with, and a sports star besides; he'll have learned to lose graciously, even if he doesn't like it much."

"It might not even be an issue," Lavender said. "Him losing, I mean. Harry's- well, Harry… and I know you lot make a good team, but the other Champions and their teammates are going to be older and more experienced..." She shrugged. Ginny narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, so Hermione hastily filled the silence.

"So, do you know who you're going to the Ball with?"

"Third year," Ginny said, a little grouchily, and Parvati made a sympathetic noise.

"Seamus," Lavender said.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Really?" She hesitated, then, rather carefully, said, "I thought you broke up...?"

"They did," Parvati said, with a wry twist of her lips.

"Not _properly_ ," Lavender huffed. "He was just- I _told_ you- it doesn't matter, we're past it." She gave Parvati a pointed look, and Parvati arched an eyebrow.

"Until next week," she teased. Lavender threw a pillow at her, and Parvati laughed.

"What matters," Lavender said, clearly trying to keep a straight face, despite the smile that was threatening, "is we're going together, and Seamus is going to be a perfect gentleman, and we're going to have a lovely time."

"Have you met Seamus?" Ginny asked, looking amused.

"All right, so the gentlemen thing's a hope, not a guarantee," Lavender said, laughing. "It'll still be a good night."

"I'm sure it will be," Hermione said. "What about you?" she asked Parvati.

"No one's asked me yet," she said. "Which, watching this one-" She tilted her head towards Lavender. "-and even you tonight, fretting, might not be a bad thing. Boys seem like an awful lot of work." Lavender poked her tongue out. "I don't think any of the boys have dates yet," Hermione said. "Except for Seamus, apparently."

"And Dean," Parvati said. "I was going to suggest we double date with Lavender and Seamus but he's going with Katie Bell."

"Really?" Lavender asked, eyes wide. "Since _when?!"_

"This afternoon," Parvati said shrugging.

"Are they, like, _together_? Or just friends? Or not together, but fancy each other enough to use the Ball as a trial-"

"The last one, I think. But can we talk less about Dean and more about my non-existent date?" Parvati flopped back onto her pillows.

"Take Neville," Hermione suggested. "He and Seamus are friendly, so you could still-"

"I am _not_ taking Neville," Parvati said. "He's sweet, he is, but he's…"

"He's Neville," Lavender said, nodding, as if that was all the explanation needed. "What about Malfoy, he's good looking."

"He's rude, never smiles, and would probably call me 'Gryffindor Patil' all night. No thanks." She grimaced somewhat apologetically at Hermione and Ginny.

"Harry? You could go with your own Champion - apparently that's the done thing." She grinned at Hermione.

"Mmm," Parvati said consideringly. "Maybe. If he didn't ignore me. And he wasn't awkward." Lavender hummed in thoughtful agreement.

"Awkward's probably your biggest risk," Hermione sighed, thinking back to the disaster that was Harry's attempt to date Cho.

"Definitely," Ginny said, sniggering. "Besides, why would he ignore you?"

"Because Harry has two modes," Lavender said, as if this were a very well known fact. "There's heroic and serious - in which case he tends to get that look on his face and ignore everyone but Dumbledore and Black, and then there's his relaxed, cheeky self. Which is infinitely preferable, don't get me wrong, but when he's relaxed he also reverts back to being a fourteen year old _boy_ and he's attached to you lot - especially Weasley - at the hips."

"What's wrong with that?" Hermione asked, a little defensively.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with it," Lavender said, "it's actually kind of sweet. But it's nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise, which is less sweet if you're on a date." Parvati nodded. "But as Champion he'll be separate from the rest of us, at least for a bit. It could work."

"There's Ron, too," Hermione said.

"He's funny," Lavender said. "And cute, in a freckly, gangly sort of way."

"He's too thick to be awkward," Ginny said helpfully. "And he'd probably be so amazed he had a date that he wouldn't dare ignore you."

"Ginny!" Hermione said, but she was laughing. So was Parvati:

"You're really selling him."

"What else are little sisters for," Ginny asked, grinning.


	27. Doubts And Dates

Harry and Ron helped a white-faced Ginny through the portrait that opened out into Padfoot's office. Behind them came Hermione, wringing her hands, and Draco, who was patting her on the shoulder while keeping concerned eyes on Ginny.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I'm so-"

"Evening," Padfoot said, standing up at his desk as he watched the five of them clamber out. Harry kept a firm grip on Ginny's forearm, trying not to jostle her broken wrist as they moved. Padfoot was in front of them in moments, flicking his wand at a chair which zoomed over to nudge gently at Ginny's knees. Harry caught Ron's eye and together they lowered her into it. She sank down, scent pained, though she was yet to utter a single word of complaint. Harry retreated to stand by Draco so Padfoot could move in.

"It's her wrist," Ron said, even as Padfoot ushered him out of the way.

"It's my fault," Hermione said. "It was a Knockback Jinx, only she wasn't paying attention but it was too late to take it back and it took her right off her feet-"

Padfoot took Ginny's wrist in his hand, then gently moved Ginny's other hand - which had been supporting the break - out of the way. A few terse swear words slipped out of Ginny's clenched lips, but they were drowned out by Padfoot's muttering, and then Ginny let out a breath and slumped in the chair. She moved her wrist, lifting and twisting it - slowly at first, then more confidently once she realised it was fully healed.

Padfoot patted her on the knee and moved back to lean against his desk.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny from behind; Harry could hear her whispering apologies:

"-an accident-"

"No, it wasn't," Ginny said. "You saw an opening and you took it, like you will in the second task. And I got hit, like I will if I have my back to the other Champions' teams." She rolled her wrist again, then hugged Hermione's arms to her. "Stop apologising." Hermione laughed a little and released her, but still smelled guilty. Ginny rubbed her shoulder where the spell had hit her. "Thanks for the patch up." Padfoot waved a hand.

"Everyone else in one piece?" he asked, eyes flicking over each of them in turn before landing and stopping on Harry.

 _Physically,_ Harry thought, and nodded; all five of them had by necessity picked up a basic but useful repertoire of healing spells and could handle small cuts, bruises, and burns. The Room's padded floors could only stop so much, and the nature of their activities were no longer limited to defending one's self against a dragon; they were instead focused on defending against people, which involved a surprising amount of offensive magic, a lot of work with the dummies in the Room, and, when those failed to be realistic enough, lot of using each other for target practice (Harry owed his friends a great deal more than he would ever be able to repay).

"Sure," Ron said.

"Well, I'm done with my marking for the night, I think," Padfoot said, stretching. "If you're heading back to the Room, I might tag along. Help out." He was looking at Harry, but Harry only saw it peripherally because he was watching the others:

Hermione's expression went from reluctant to guilty to determined. She nodded. Draco - upfront as always - shook his head. Ron nodded. Ginny drew herself up and nodded too.

"No," Harry said. "I am, but they're not." He'd have liked nothing better than to head back to Gryffindor tower and his four-poster and have an early night, but the Tournament was only two weeks out now, so that wasn't an option. "You need a break," Harry said, over their protests.

"You're not having one," Ron said, looking confused and a bit indignant. Draco shrugged. Hermione's scent went from hopeful to guilty and she mustered a noise of protest. Ginny squinted at him, scent relieved and disapproving all at once, and Harry was so very tired-

"I agree," Padfoot said, and Ron turned on him, scowling. "You do need a break." Harry looked at him, grateful for his support. " _All_ of you." Harry's gratitude vanished, but his friends seemed to approve of that, at least; with looks that Harry knew meant they'd talk later, they began to file back into the tunnel to the Room. Harry heaved a sigh and started after them, but Padfoot's voice stopped him:

"Not you," he said, and when Harry looked back at him, saw he was gesturing for Harry to follow him as he stepped through the door into his quarters. "Couch," he said, pointing, and then started to poke around in the kitchenette.

Harry flopped down without argument and Padfoot was back a moment later, pressing a cold bottle of butterbeer and a chocolate frog into his hand. Then the couch dipped as he seated himself beside Harry, and warm weight settled around Harry's shoulders in the form of Padfoot's arm, tugging him into a sideways hug. Harry pressed the cold bottle against Padfoot's neck making him yelp, smiled to himself, then wedged his head between Padfoot's shoulder and the back of the couch. Padfoot gave him a squeeze. Harry sighed.

"What can I do?" Padfoot asked. "And please don't say nothing, because I'm sick of feeling useless." Harry twisted his head to look up at Padfoot and found him looking just as tired and stressed as Harry felt.

"Teach me non-verbal magic and something to temporarily fix my eyes," Harry said. Padfoot blinked.

"That's- okay, yeah." Padfoot glanced down at Harry. "Oddly specific, though…"

"I've been thinking about the other Champions' duelling styles. Fleur and Krum are unknowns, obviously, but I _have_ been up against Cedric before. He Silenced me once, and summoned my glasses another time. It worked then, so he'd be stupid not to try it now."

"We can work on that," Padfoot said. Harry lay against him for a few more moments, making the most of being still instead of dodging and running and rolling and jumping. Here beside Padfoot, in his quiet quarters, he felt the safest he had in a while, felt like he didn't have to be grown-up and in charge… He started to push himself up so they could get to work-

Padfoot's arm tightened over his shoulders.

"Not tonight," Padfoot said. Harry could have broken free, but the message was clear. He settled back into the couch. "I meant it when I said I think you need a break."

"I think I need one too," Harry said. "I just don't know if I can afford one."

"But your friends can?" Harry gave him a dirty look, but gave in a moment later with another sigh.

"Ron's failed his Charms essay," he said. Padfoot didn't say anything, but his scent encouraged Harry to go on. "He didn't hand it up because he's been spending too much time in the Room with me. And I know he hasn't done his Potions ingredient analysis for tomorrow yet, but he was going to keep training tonight anyway."

"Have you done yours?" Padfoot asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "This afternoon. History of Magic's all that's letting me stay on top of homework at the moment, I swear."

"What was Ron doing in History of Magic?"

"Transfiguration. He's slower at that than I am." Padfoot nodded understandingly. "Hermione's disappointed in him for not being more focused on his homework, which is bad because of the Ball, so Ron's been putting _that_ off too." It was the first time Harry'd mentioned Ron's secret to anyone - he himself was equally curious and keen to keep out of it - but Padfoot didn't look at all surprised. Harry filed that away for consideration later. "And Draco's training just as hard as the rest of us, even though he's not actually competing, and he's still visiting Snape a lot, _and_ there's whatever's going on with Mr Malfoy, which I don't know much about because he thinks I have enough to deal with." Now that he'd started talking, he didn't seem able to stop. "And Hermione's on top of all her work, but I think maybe she's not doing as well as she'd like to because she's spending a lot of her spare time in the library, and she's smelling guilty a lot, like she keeps catching herself thinking something she thinks she shouldn't. I think she's thinking she'd rather be somewhere else, or doing her own work, rather than stuck with me."

Padfoot said nothing.

"And Ginny- she's- third years have less work than we do, and she knows some of it already because of Riddle's diary, so she should be handling all this better than anyone, but she's not. She's- I think she's using a lot of Riddle's memories while we're training, and it's- not good for her." Harry couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled or laughed, at least while she was around him.

"And you?"

"What about me?" Harry asked. He unwrapped the chocolate frog Padfoot had given him and took a bite, idly turning over the card. Bagman grinned boyishly back at him, dressed in Wasps robes, and Harry set the rest of the frog and the card on the arm of the couch, appetite gone. He turned the butterbeer over in his hand, not opening it, but simply watching the bubbles race from one side of the bottle to the other.

"How are you?"

"Tired," Harry said. He set the butterbeer aside too. Harry'd been _sleepier_ before, could remember days after nights disturbed by dreams or nights where he'd lain awake to avoid them, but he couldn't remember ever having been so worn down before. Being a Champion and having to prepare for the task (or whatever Voldemort might try during it) didn't mean he was exempt from his school work, or his homework. He was going to bed late, getting up early, and trying to pack too much into the waking hours in between. "I want this year over. I- I'm sort of used to the idea of the prophecy, and Voldemort, but that's enough to deal with on its own. And being a Champion, even though I don't care about the Tournament- It'd be hard enough without the threat of whatever Voldemort's got planned. I- I don't want to do both. I _can't_ do both. But I can't just opt out - of the prophecy, or the Tournament - so I just sort of have to." Harry swallowed, throat feeling thick. "And it's- that and it's everyone else struggling, and it's the waiting, because I'm not good at that, I'm good at _doing_ , but this whole year's just been waiting and preparing and not knowing, and-" He cleared his throat, hoping Padfoot hadn't heard his voice crack. "-it's- it's a bit much, at the moment-"

"It is," Padfoot said. "It's _too_ much, and it's not fair, and I'm so, so sorry-"

"'s not your fault," Harry mumbled into his shoulder.

They were silent after that. Padfoot hadn't had solutions to any of the worries and frustrations he'd voiced, but he'd listened and understood, and that was enough to make Harry feel a little better. He was safe - at least for the moment - and warm beside Padfoot, and knowing that training was done for the night meant he could relax. Without really meaning to, he started to sink a little deeper into the couch and lean a little more heavily against Padfoot, started to feel his eyelids droop. Padfoot's scent was fond, and Harry felt him remove Harry's glasses, heard him place them on the side table. Harry didn't even have it in him to protest.

"I've thought about leaving," Padfoot said quietly. "Of taking you and just disappearing - we've done it before. We could hide in a muggle area, set up a new Fidelius Charm, I know enough to homeschool you…"

Harry let himself imagine what it might be like if they did, but only for a few moments.

"We can't," Harry said, without opening his eyes.

"I know," Padfoot sighed. Harry heard him, but explained why anyway, because he felt like he needed the reminder as much as Padfoot did; it was not the first time that Padfoot had suggested pulling him out of school for his own safety, but it was the first time Harry had been seriously, genuinely tempted:

"There's the magical contract," he mumbled, "n' the prophecy-"

"-yes, and the friends who'd be used as bait to lure us out, or tortured into giving up our location, the worry and guilt we'd feel over that, and the fact that we'd be looking over our shoulders the whole time - more than we are now, even - waiting for Death Eaters to show up on the doorstep. We'd have to wear disguises every time we left the house - if we left the house much at all... I've given it a lot of thought. I know we can't. Doesn't stop me wishing we could..."

If Padfoot had any more to say on the matter, Harry was no longer awake to hear it.

* * *

Harry awoke on Padfoot's couch - with Padfoot draped in a black, snoring mass over his legs - to find he'd slept through breakfast and half of double-Transfiguration. His panic had faded quickly; Padfoot had a free lesson first up and though he knew Harry didn't, had let Harry sleep. Between the note Padfoot had given him and the fact that he'd transfigured his ladybug into a ruby on the first try when he finally made it into the lesson, McGonagall hadn't minded much. Even if she had, _Harry_ might not have been too bothered; after a decent night's sleep and a sleep-in, he felt better than he had in weeks.

Things were perfectly civil between him and the others but there was an expectant undercurrent that he knew meant they wanted to discuss last night with him, but the day conspired to make that impossible;

Ron had had to stay behind through the break with Neville, and Hannah Abbott to practice the _Coralloachatus_ spell under McGonagall's direct supervision. Hermione had headed off to Muggle Studies after that, and Harry and Draco to Arithmancy, and then they'd had a quiz in Charms which meant there was no chance to talk. An incident involving Peeves, a moving staircase, and an almost unfathomable amount of blue slime meant they'd only had time to grab sandwiches from the Great Hall (and had to spend the rest of the lunch hour trekking to Gryffindor to shower and change robes instead of sitting down to eat), and then Harry, Ron, and Draco had gone to Divination while Hermione had Ancient Runes. Trelawney had been so caught up in her predictions of a tragic end to the Tournament that they'd cut it very fine indeed getting to Potions, and couldn't get seats together.

As such, Harry was surprised when Draco waved him on when Snape dismissed them - clearly intending to stay behind - and even more surprised when he reached Ron and Hermione's table, only to have Ron give Harry a smile that was almost half-grimace, swing his bag over his shoulder, and go to catch up with Seamus, Dean, and Neville. Harry, suddenly worried he'd been misreading the situation all day, made to follow but Hermione caught his arm, gave it a pat, and linked it with hers.

"Let's take a walk, shall we?" she said, with a small smile. He gave Ron's retreating back one last look, then allowed Hermione to steer him down the dungeon corridor that would eventually spit them out near the kitchens.

"I- but Ron-"

"Ron's fine," Hermione said, fondly exasperated. "Better than he probably deserves, even, because he was expecting a T for his homework, but now he'll probably do all right. You, on the other hand..." She gave him a pointed look, one that was somehow admiring and unimpressed all at once.

"So he handed it in, then?" Harry asked, pleased.

"Snape took it before he could decide." She sighed. "It's a nice gesture, Harry, but Ron needs to do his own work-"

"How can he, if he's too busy helping me get ready for the Tournament?" Harry asked.

"The rest of us have managed just fine." Harry said nothing. They walked in silence for a few moments, then Hermione said, "When did you even have the chance to switch them without him knowing?"

"Divination," Harry said. "I think Draco saw, but he didn't say anything." Hermione pursed her lips. "Look," Harry said, tugging her to a halt, "if it wasn't for me and the Tournament, Ron would've got it done. And taking a T for him's the least I can do, when he's going to be facing the second task for me. I'd do the same for you, 'cept you'd probably do worse if I swapped my homework for yours."

"Yes, please don't," Hermione said, but she let out a quiet laugh. Harry grinned. "I- I can't _actually_ speak for Ron, but I can speak for me and I think he'd agree; you don't have to repay us for the second task. We're with you, Harry, in this and anything else that pops up."

"It's a lot to ask-"

"You didn't ask," she said smartly. "We offered. You're our friend-"

"I'm not sure I've been a very good one lately," Harry said. "And just because you offered doesn't mean you can't change your mind." Hermione scowled and opened her mouth to argue, but Harry swallowed and said, "I know you've been wishing you could be somewhere else. I-" He gestured vaguely to his nose.

Hermione's scowl vanished immediately. It was replaced, momentarily, by a startled look, and that, in turn, was replaced by horror.

"No!" she said. "No, Harry, it's not-"

"It's okay," he said. "I don't- You're allowed to want to do other things, and I- Merlin, Hermione, I'd pull out of the Tournament in a second if I could, I'm the last person that's going to hold it against you if-"

"It's not that at all!" Hermione said. He had a moment to register that she looked both miserable and embarrassed, and then she was untangling their arms so she could hug him. "You've been thinking…? Oh, Harry, no, I'm so sorry-" She was, he could smell that she was genuine. He could only stand there, patting her back, confused. "It's- not- I'm- it's just that I'm- I'm seeing someone." Hermione pulled back, her cheeks scarlet.

"You- what- _Really_?" Hermione looked a little offended. "Not- I didn't mean it like that," Harry hastened to add, and her expression warmed again, "I just- Since when? _Who_?"

"A few weeks," Hermione said, still looking embarrassed. "And… um… Viktor."

"Viktor who?" Harry asked.

"Krum." Harry blinked.

"Krum, like- Dumstrang Champion, Bulgarian Seeker Krum?"

"Yes," Hermione said, chin starting to lift defiantly. "That Krum." He stared at her, remembering the odd looks he'd caught her giving Krum and his fanbase at various points that term. Hermione clearly misinterpreted his considering silence and her confidence faded: "I- you're not mad are you?"

"Mad?"

"He's- well, you're competing against each other-"

"I don't care about winning the Tournament," Harry reminded her. "And even if I did, what's that got to do with you and him?" A shy smile spread across Hermione's face. A thought occurred to Harry a moment later. "Does Ron know?" And then, realising he was singling Ron out, he added, "Or Draco?"

"I've only told Ginny. And… well, now you too."

"You told Ginny before me?" Harry asked, distracted; Ron didn't know, which meant Harry needed to find him and talk to him before Ron tried to ask Hermione to the Ball.

"Of course I did, you're hopeless," Hermione said, teasing. She bit her lip. "And- well, I thought you might make fun of me, and you didn't seem all that interested in the Ball-"

"Yeah, but it's obviously important to you," Harry said, and put thoughts of Ron aside for the moment, because this, right now, was about Hermione.

"I- yes," Hermione said, looking embarrassed again. "I feel a bit silly for thinking so, with everything else that's going on, though..." And that explained the guilt Harry'd been smelling on her lately.

"Don't," Harry said. She must have heard the relief in his voice, relief that she wasn't secretly resentful of having to help him, relief that they were all right, because she smiled. "You're allowed to be excited." He grinned and gave her a gentle nudge in the side. "Just as long as I'm still your favourite Champion."

"Of course," Hermione said, returning the grin. Her expression softened, went embarrassed again. "It's- it's actually really nice to have you know. I was so worried about what you'd think..." Harry rolled his eyes and put his arm around her shoulders.

"We've been friends for how long…?"

"Yes, I know," Hermione said, and Harry could almost hear _her_ eyes rolling. She laid her head against his shoulder, scent more relaxed than it had been for several weeks. "He's really lovely, Harry."

"Do I have to warn him about what happens if he stops being lovely?" Harry asked. Hermione poked him in the side, scowling:

"Don't be such a boy."

"I'm serious," Harry said, twisting away from her with a laugh. "He might not have worked out how terrifying you can be, and I feel obliged to let him know what he's risking if he turns out to be a prat."

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione said, but she was laughing and smelled a little pleased. "I- I don't suppose you've worked out who you're going to take?"

"No," Harry said. "I was going to ask you as friends, but that's obviously not an option anymore." And hadn't been for a few weeks, but he wasn't going to say that. He smiled to show her he didn't mind.

"Well," Hermione said reasonably, "there are plenty of other friends you could take." Harry had reached that conclusion in Divination - really, it was remarkable what a good night's sleep could do for his ability to think rationally - and had resolved to ask Ginny over dinner. "Not Ginny, because she's going with Neville-" Harry groaned, but waved Hermione's curious look away. "-and Lavender's with Seamus, but Parvati doesn't have a date yet. Or there's Demelza in Ginny's year."

"They're not really friends though," Harry said. "Not the way you and Ginny are."

"Ginny and I are really your only female friends," Hermione said frankly.

"I have other friends that are girls," Harry protested. "I- there's the Quidditch girls."

"Katie's going with Dean," Hermione said. "And Angelina's with Fred and I don't know about Alicia, but-"

"She's a bit old for me," Harry sighed. "Who else?"

"I'm sure Romilda Vane would go with you." Hermione gave him a sly smile and he gave her a good-natured shove. "Or Viktor might know someone." Merlin help him, she looked and smelled serious now. "We could set you up on a blind date - no one's going to object to going with a Champion, and it's only one night-"

"No," Harry said firmly, imagining a faceless girl morphing into Wormtail, or another Death Eater, or a _Prophet_ reporter like Skeeter. "No blind dates."

"All right, but that doesn't leave you with many options," Hermione said. "You could ask Dora? She can make herself look our age, so you wouldn't have to worry about her standing out."

"I reckon Moony'd be a bit put out," Harry said, laughing. "Maybe she'd let me take Stella, though - that'd be a brilliant excuse not to dance."

"Honestly, Harry." Hermione rolled her eyes. "What about- Never mind."

"Who?"

"No-"

" _Who?_ "

"Cho," Hermione said. "But then I remembered she's already going with- someone."

"Yeah, Cedric."

"Oh, so you know?" Hermione sagged with relief. A thought struck him.

"You know who I could take, though," he said. "Luna." Hermione snorted, then sobered when she realised her was being serious.

"Well," she said, "she'd certainly be interesting company. And I doubt anyone else will have asked her." Harry thought she was probably right about that last, but then again, with his luck…

"I should find her." He fished the Map out of his bag and scanned it for Luna's name.

"You don't want to think on it a bit longer?" Hermione asked.

"I like Luna, we're friends." Harry spied Luna's name outside the Charms classroom with Ginny's, Colin's, and Vivienne Greengrass'. "And if I do it now, then it's done and I don't have to worry about it anymore."

"Can't fault you there," she said.

They parted ways on the second floor, Hermione to join Ron upstairs and see if she could help him with the Transfiguration essay he was desperately trying to finish before dinner, and Harry to find Luna.

Ginny noticed him first and gave him a concerned, curious look, even as she began to excuse herself from her yearmates.

"No, stay," he said to her, nodding at the others in greeting. Colin beamed. "I was actually hoping to talk to Luna." Ginny looked even more curious now, though the concern was mostly gone.

"Am I in trouble?" Luna asked, cocking her head.

"No, no trouble."

"Oh, good. Because last time anyone went out of their way to speak to me was Professor Snape, and that was to say I wasn't allowed to wear my dirigible plums in Potions anymore."

"They fell in and made your cauldron explode, Luna," Greengrass said, and Harry could smell that she agreed with Snape.

"Yes, that was unfortunate," Luna mused. "Although I had no idea that combining plums with a Wide-eye Potion would have such a destructive effect but I do now, so it was still a very educational lesson. And Daddy's going to put a piece about it in the Quibbler, for readers that are interested in potion-making." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I don't suppose that's what you wanted to talk about, though, is it?"

"Er, no," Harry said. "I wanted to ask you about the Yule Ball-" Ginny arched an eyebrow, but then a slow smile spread across her face. "-and if you're going with anyone."

"No, I'm not," Luna said, tilting her head.

"Great!" Harry said, relieved. "Did you- would you want to go with me?"

"Ooh, good question," Luna said seriously. She tapped her fingers on her chin. "It's hard to say, when this is the first time I've been asked to give it any thought." Luna considered him for a long moment, and Harry tried not to fidget. Ginny's scent was far too amused, and she lingered even when Greengrass said something about the library and towed Colin away. "I'm afraid I don't fancy you, so I don't think I'd want to go on a date with you, but I would want to go with you as a friend." Luna paused, then nodded. "Is that a good enough answer?"

"Very detailed," Harry said, nodding; he'd been expecting a simple yes or no. "But it's a yes, right? As friends?"

"Yes, if you asked me as friends, I'd want to go."

"Luna," Ginny said, laughter in her voice, "I think that _was_ Harry trying to ask you."

"Really?" Luna peered at Ginny, then at Harry, who felt his face heat. "And you really want to take me?" Luna's tone was surprised.

"As- as friends," Harry said, feeling the need to clarify. "But yeah, I do." He suddenly had an armful of Luna, who was hugging him with surprising strength.

"I'd be delighted to go with you," she said, beaming up at him.

"Great," he said, relieved.

"Thank you for asking me, Harry." She released him, scent thoughtful. "Although next time you might want to be clearer about asking literally instead of hypothetically, especially if Ginny's not around to explain what you mean."

"I-er- yeah, I'll remember that," Harry said, mouth twitching.

"I'll have to find something to wear," Luna said. "I wasn't expecting to go…" Harry smiled at the excitement building in her scent.

"We'll have a look in Hogsmeade this weekend," Ginny said. "I need to find something too." Luna beamed at her.

"I'm thinking gamboge," Luna said. "Or perhaps feldgrau. That's a very friendly colour, don't you think? And it goes with everything, which is always good."

"Er, sure," Harry said, though he had no clue what either of those colours were. Luna considered him, then seemed to realise he had no idea.

"I'll ask Dad what he thinks," she said, and Harry - having never met Mr Lovegood - wasn't sure if that was likely to be a good thing or not. "He's been to several balls." She nodded to herself, gave Harry another quick hug, then Ginny, and then drifted away, humming happily.

Harry watched Luna do a skip that turned into a pirouette that she aborted midway through so she could speak to a portrait.

"Hello, Tim," he heard her say. "Hello, Lady Abelone. I'm going to the Yule Ball, isn't that wonderful?" The portrait's occupants cheered and Luna smiled and drifted further down the corridor.

"That was a really nice thing to do, Harry," Ginny said. Harry watched Luna slip a little on her socked feet as she rounded the corner, and smiled.


	28. Things To Ask

"I can see Transfiguration's going well," Hermione said, and Ron jumped, knees bumping the coffee table. Guiltily, he picked up the quill he'd been staring so intently at, but Hermione only snorted, amused, and picked up his not-quite-finished essay, settling herself beside him on the couch.

"Harry all right?" Ron asked, looking over at the portrait hole, a little worried that he hadn't come in with her.

"Yes, he's all right. I think a night off did him some good." The night off had done them _all_ some good, Ron thought, though Harry could have just _said_ they were having a night off, rather than tried to send them away.

"So where is he?" he asked.

"He won't be far off, I don't think - he just needed to speak with Luna." Hermione held out a hand and Ron passed her his quill. She scratched something out and made a neat little note above it. "He's asking her to the Ball."

"All right…" Ron had several questions about that - mainly _Since when?_ Luna _, really?_ \- but pushed them aside; for one, he'd probably get better answers out of Harry, but for two, he knew a conversational segue when he heard one, and this was one he'd been waiting for for a while now. "Speaking of the Ball," he said, and summoned his courage back when it tried to scuttle away, "I was thinking we could maybe… er... go together?" His cheeks and ears were red, he could feel it. Hermione had gone very still behind his essay. "Like- you and me. If you wanted?"

"Oh." Hermione's shoulders came up and she did her best to hide behind Ron's essay, which meant his stomach had already settled somewhere near his toes by the time she said, "I'm actually already going with someone, Ron."

He hadn't expected it to feel it so strongly. It didn't hurt, exactly, but he'd taken a hard-thrown Quaffle to the chest before and it had left him with the same, winded, vaguely bruised feeling as now.

"Oh- yeah, that's-" He'd waited for the right moment to ask so he could be sure she'd say yes _\- Shouldn't have waited,_ he told himself angrily - but now, he realised, he'd never seriously expected she'd say no. Ron cleared his throat and tried not to be awkward about it. "That's nice. Who-?"

"Viktor," Hermione said, giving him a nervous look over the essay. "Krum."

"Krum?!" Ron asked, astonished. Hermione shushed him and Ron lowered his voice as much as he could manage. "You're going to the Ball with Krum?!"

"Is that so hard to believe?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"A bit, yeah," he said honestly. "You don't even like Quidditch."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hermione sniffed. She circled something on Ron's essay with a bit more force than was probably necessary.

"It's got loads to do with it - he's a World Cup level Quidditch player!"

"He has other interests," Hermione snapped, setting the essay down in her lap. "And frankly, I think that's not as much your issue as the fact that I've said no."

"We're better friends," Ron mumbled.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, softening a little. "We are. But I spend a lot of time with you, and with the others, and I- I want more from the Ball than it to be more of the same."

"I- it wouldn't be exactly the same," Ron said. "It'd be different. Y'know. Us."

"It would be the same," she said. "It'd be me agreeing to do you a favour-"

"A favour?" Ron repeated, and felt his ears and face heat again, with an angry sort of embarrassment, because he knew he wasn't Krum or Diggory but he didn't think it was fair of her to suggest he was nothing more than a charity case. Or to say she was so much better than he was. She _was_ , even with her flaws, but it stung that she so clearly thought so.

"Yes, a favour," Hermione said exasperatedly, "at the last minute because you weren't as organised and proactive as you ought to have been." Hermione tapped the essay. "Again."

"It's not last minute," Ron said, bristling. "And I wasn't disorganised, it just took me a while to work up to it. Apparently we can't all be as brave as Krum." Hermione stared at him as he snatched his essay back and stomped away.

The Room was able to provide him with a new quill and a copy of the book he needed to finish his essay - which he did, without including any of Hermione's corrections - so by the time dinner rolled around he'd moved on from that and had worked off some of his embarrassment and frustration on a practice dummy.

If any of the others had come by, the Room had followed his instructions and kept them out, so he headed down to dinner alone and settled himself with the twins and their friends.

Once they'd greeted him they pretty much ignored him in favour of listening to Fleur's story of being asked to the Ball by a particularly bold first year. Under normal circumstances it might have been funny, but it was a bit too close to home for Ron to laugh.

"There you are!" Harry said, squeezing into the space between Ron and Fred. A night off really _had_ done him some good. Fleur stuck her nose in the air, scowling. "I thought you and Hermione'd both be in the common room, and maybe even Draco, but you weren't. I-" He looked at Ron, blinked, and sobered almost immediately. "Hermione said you were all right after Potions…?" He looked worried and - oddly - guilty.

"I was," Ron muttered, pushing a roast potato around his plate.

"But you're not now." It wasn't a question, and Harry leaned against Ron to push him further down the bench. It was only when the two of them were sitting side by side, a good two feet from anyone else that Ron realised he hadn't done it so he had more room, but so the twins wouldn't overhear them. Harry slid Ron's plate and goblet over. "I didn't mean to be ungrateful last night, really, I just-"

"Hermione said no," Ron said, shrugging, before Harry could work himself up over a sense of misplaced guilt.

Harry looked stricken.

"Just now?" he asked.

"Hour ago, maybe." Ron poked at his potato again. "'s'not a big deal."

"I was going to tell you- well, now," Harry said, expression a mix of misery and chagrin. "She told me after Potions and I was going to tell you, I swear." Ron waved a hand; bad timing seemed to be the theme of the evening. "Is- is that why she's not down here?"

"Probably," Ron said. "She probably thinks she's doing me another favour." He dropped his fork onto the table. Harry looked worried and uncomfortable. "It's fine, it's not a big deal." Ron started to load Harry's plate since he hadn't made any effort to do so himself, and Ron didn't want to be the one to undo the liveliness last night had restored in him.

"You know," Harry said, in a mild tone that reminded Ron of Remus, "you're allowed to lean on us- well, me, I guess, since the others aren't here - too. You can be- not fine." Ron grunted and turned to offer Harry the plate, only to find Harry was holding out his fork with a challenging expression on his face. Ron's mouth twitched and they swapped.

"So, Luna?" Ron asked, as they ate; he desperately wanted to talk about something that wasn't Hermione, but was enjoying Harry being something other than grim and stoic too much to bring up what they might be working on in the Room later.

"Yeah, Luna." Harry grinned. "Figured it'd be fun."

"Do you- y'know… fancy her?"

"No!" Harry said, eyes widening. "No, we're just going as friends." His mouth twitched around a forkful of shepherd's pie. "Probably for the best, too, because she told me she wouldn't want to go otherwise."

"It was hilarious." Ginny sat down opposite them, with Hermione in tow. Ron glanced at Hermione who was pink cheeked and biting her lip and very resolutely not looking at him. He resolved not to look at her either, but Harry looked between them both and wrinkled his nose, expression back to uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, too low for anyone else to be able to hear. Harry's mouth twitched down.

"So, I take it Draco's with Snape?" Ginny said with so much forced cheer that she'd clearly heard what had happened from Hermione, and decided it was up to her to force things to be normal.

"Yeah," Harry said, giving her an odd look. "I told you that already-" He twitched and Ginny gave him a sharp look; Ron suspected she'd kicked him under the table. "Er… yeah. He is."

"I s'pose he'll eat in his own time, then, and come and find us?"

"Yeah, probably," Harry said. "I was thinking we could work on non-verbal stuff today? I talked to Padfoot about it this morning over breakfast and he gave me some pointers."

"I'm in," Ron said.

"Have you finished your essay?" Hermione asked tone disapproving and expression skeptical.

"Yes, actually," Ron said, bristling. "All by myself as well, because I figure that's better than being a charity case." He pushed away from the table. "See you upstairs," he muttered, leaving Hermione looking embarrassed and unhappy, Ginny staring at him with raised eyebrows, and Harry looking between them.

* * *

"Er… Fairy floss?"

The wall twisted aside to become a winding staircase and Ron stepped onto it, nervous. Harry'd been to Dumbledore's office plenty of times and assured him it was no big deal, but it was a first for Ron.

He knocked on the door at the top of the stairs and Dumbledore called for him to come inside.

There were a lot of people there; Ginny, Mum, Dad, Hermione - though she wasn't looking at him - Professor Sprout, an older Hufflepuff boy, and two adults Ron didn't know - maybe his parents?

"Thank you for joining us, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said.

"Hi," Ron said, and looked at Mum and Dad. They both smiled but they were serious smiles. He caught Ginny's eye but she lifted one shoulder ever so slightly in a shrug to say she wasn't sure what this was all about either.

On a perch on the other side of Dumbledore's desk, Fawkes crooned what Ron thought was a greeting.

"Can I…?" he asked Dumbledore, who smiled and gestured for him to go ahead. Ron approached the perch a little nervously; he'd only met Fawkes the once when he'd rescued Ron and Ginny from the Chamber, and even then Ron was fairly sure Fawkes had been there for Harry, not him. Fawkes craned his neck to rub his beak against Ron's offered hand, and Ron grinned, stroking the soft, strangely warm, red feathers on the bird's cheek.

There was another knock and the door opened to admit McGonagall and the Grangers, who were looking around with wide eyes.

"Now," Dumbledore said, once everyone's hellos had been said and they were all settled. "I imagine you've all worked out you're here to discuss the second Triwizard task." Hermione and the Hufflepuff both nodded. Hermione looked really tense, her hands white-knuckled on her lap. He wanted to reach around Ginny and squeeze her shoulder, or give her foot a nudge with his, or something, but he wasn't sure she'd welcome it. Ron's insides ached. "And more importantly, your potential involvement in it."

"Is there a problem with it," Ron asked, then added on a hasty, embarrassed, "sir? There's not any age restriction on it, and students from any school can be on Harry's team-"

"Quite true," Dumbledore agreed, smiling. "What is also true, however, is that underage students require their Headmaster's permission to compete - or Headmistress', as is the case for those from Beauxbatons - and your Headmaster - that is to say, me - is reluctant to give that permission without support from parents." Ron looked at Mum's serious, worried expression and felt his heart sink. "So, here we are." Dumbledore looked at the Grangers then. "Dr and Dr Granger, am I correct in assuming Hermione has told you about the Triwizard Tournament?"

"I- yes," Hermione's mum said, glancing at Hermione, who still looked tense. "I think so. That's the academic competition the other magical schools are here to take part in?"

"That's the one," Hermione said. Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged a subtle look, and Mum raised an eyebrow. The Hufflepuff boy's parents shared a glance too, but Dad was too busy staring at the small device holding keys and what looked like a plastic playing card with Hermione's dad's unmoving photograph. "It tests magical ability, intelligence, and ability to think under pressure. My friend Harry's one of the main competitors."

"And now you want to get involved?" Hermione's dad asked.

"Yes, I've been selected to join Harry's team-"

"Harry Potter?" whispered the Hufflepuff boy's mum, and he nodded.

"-with Ron and Ginny. I think it's a fantastic opportunity, really. I'll get to showcase everything I've been learning here at Hogwarts in front of potential employers like the Ministry of Magic, and in front of other students and educators from around Europe."

"And it's quite safe…?" Hermione's mum asked, biting her red-painted lip in a very Hermione-ish way.

"It's all being very closely supervised by staff from the competing schools and the Ministry of Magic," Hermione said, like she was reciting an answer from a textbook. Ron wondered if she'd prepared for this, or if she was making it up as she went. "I'm not sure what the task itself will be - it's meant to be a bit of a surprise - but if it's anything at all like the first one, we'll just be working to earn points from the judges. Last time Harry had to find and retrieve a golden egg-"

"That's all a bit Jack and the beanstalk, isn't it?" Hermione's mum said.

"Who's Jack?" Ron muttered to Ginny.

"Reckon beanstalk's an innuendo?" she whispered back, and he had to hide his surprised, snorting laugh in a cough.

"I suppose, though there weren't any angry giants or magic beans," Hermione said, which didn't make Jack's identity any clearer. She laughed and Ron wondered if anyone else could hear the nervous edge to it.

"David…?"

"I suppose the fact that we're here at all means you're confident enough in her to let her represent you?" Hermione's dad asked, looking at Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"Miss Granger is one of our best and brightest," McGonagall said. Her tone was crisp but she wore a rare smile. "However, the fact remains that she is underage, and the Tournament is not without risks, so the decision ultimately falls to the pair of you-"

"Please can I compete?" Hermione said. Ron leaned forward to better see her; he'd never heard Hermione sound so- well, so like Ginny, trying to wheedle something she wanted out of Mum. "Please? It's such a fantastic opportunity." The Grangers exchanged a long, somewhat helpless look, then, finally, Hermione's mum nodded. "Oh, thank you!" Hermione said, leaping up to hug them. "Thank you, oh, this is so exciting!"

"You can write and tell us all about how you get on," Hermione's dad said, patting her on the back. "In the meantime, Minerva, if it's not too much trouble, we need to get back..."

"Of course," McGonagall said, standing. She looked troubled but only waved for the Grangers - Hermione included - to follow her out. Hermione grimaced at Ginny on her way, but didn't spare Ron a look.

"Wow," Ginny said in an undertone, as the door closed behind them. Mum was frowning after the Grangers, and Dumbledore wore a look just as troubled as McGonagall had.

"Muggles, I presume," the Hufflepuff boy's dad said. Dumbledore hummed in confirmation. "Thought so. Makes the girl's approach make a bit more sense. They'd probably panic a bit if she'd mentioned the dragons…"

"Wouldn't any responsible parent?" Mum asked, tone loaded. "I certainly would if it was _my_ daughter going up against one-"

"They won't use the same thing twice, Mum," Ron said, at the same time as Ginny said, "Mum, Charlie goes up against dragons every day."

"Quiet, Ginny." Ginny obeyed, perhaps realising an argument wouldn't help her secure Mum's permission.

"You'll be in with Cedric, dear?" the Hufflepuff boy's mother asked into the silence.

"Aye, Mam," he said.

"What fun," she said, smiling. "Robert?"

"No issues on our end, Dumbledore," the boy's father said, clapping his son on the arm. "'S'long as we're able to come'n watch, o'course."

"Participants' families will be issued with tickets to the event," Dumbledore said. "Pomona…?"

"Stebbins knows what he's in for," she said.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "In that case, you're free to go, and I'll let the competition organisers know you're confirmed. Cliodhna, Robert, Patrick can walk you to the gate, or if you're in a hurry, I'm sure Pomona's Floo is available..." The four of them left, leaving only Dumbledore, Ron, Ginny, Mum, and Dad.

"So what d'you say, Mum, Dad?" Ron tried. "Reckon it's all right for me and Ginny to do this academic competition thing with Harry and Hermione?"

"Don't cheek me, Ronald Billius," Mum said warningly, though Dad looked amused. She turned on Dumbledore. "I don't think David and Pauline knew nearly enough to give their permission."

"Stebbins' parents know, though, and they still did," Ginny said.

"They don't know all of it," Mum said significantly.

"They might," Ron said, fairly. "Harry's warned Diggory, and he's probably decent enough to warn his mates."

"But have his mates warned their parents?" Dad asked mildly. "Our children certainly didn't warn us…" He gave them a pointed look.

"Figured you'd know," Ron muttered. "It was all in the papers…"

"It was also in the papers that Harry and Sirius are at odds and I know that's rubbish," Mum said. "And there was that horrible article about Remus. Really, it's impossible to know what to believe-"

"Obviously not because you've just said the stuff about Harry and Sirius and Remus was rubbish-" He fell silent under Mum's warning look.

"I've a good mind not to let you compete," she said finally, seriously.

" _What?!_ " Ginny yelped.

"Because we didn't tell you-"

"Because it's incredibly dangerous," Mum said over the top of them both. "Because You-Know-Who and his followers have been pulling strings in it from the start and we don't know what they might be planning."

"Harry's in, though, and he-"

"Harry's in because he had no choice, and when I spoke to Sirius-"

"You spoke to Sirius?" Ron asked, surprised. "When?"

"It doesn't matter when," Mum snapped, but her cheeks were flushed. Ron looked at Dad but he wasn't meeting Ron's eyes. Ron stored that away to talk about with the others later. "What _does_ matter is he said that if he'd had any say at all, Harry would most certainly _not_ be competing. He also said he wouldn't blame us for deciding to keep you out of it."

"I've got to go-" Ginny kicked him. " _We've_ got to go!"

"It's not safe," Mum said.

"Dad!?"

"It's not," he said quietly. "We understand why you want to go, Ron, Ginny, we do. And it's a lovely thing you're trying to do for Harry, but you need to think of yourselves too-"

"I am!" Ron said. "I'm thinking of how awful it'd be to have to sit in the audience _again_ and not be able to help him or watch his back-"

"And what if you were hurt helping him or watching his back?" Dad asked, tone still calm. "Have you thought about what that would do to us? Have you thought about what that would do to _Harry_? We saw him in the hospital wing last year after Pettigrew had hurt you, and he was a mess. And we all saw him at St Mungo's after the World Cup before Hermione and Draco had been found-"

"You think I'd be any better if things were switched? Because I've been there too, when he stayed back in the Chamber. I've been there at the World Cup when you sent us away and he was still in the tent. If something happened to him-"

"He's not yours to protect, Ron," Dad said, frowning slightly.

"He is," Ron said. "Just like Ginny is, and Hermione is, and like the twins and the rest of you are. He's family. I know you care about him too. You let the twins enter to try to protect him-"

"Yes, but that- Fred and George- they're older-"

"Still underage," Ginny said.

"The whole point of getting their names in was to open up a conversation of how to get them - or any other underage entrant, like Harry - out!" Mum said. "And they weren't likely to be chosen - they only got a handful of O.W.L.s between them and the Goblet would have known that."

"The Goblet obviously doesn't care about O.W.L.s or Harry wouldn't have been chosen," Ginny said.

"Harry was the only entrant for his school," Mum replied. "O.W.L.s didn't matter for him because there was no one else to choose."

"And there's no one else for him to choose now," Ron said, trying to get the conversation back on track. "It's only students that can go in, and if he doesn't have us, who does he have?"

"Apparently he'll have Hermione," Mum said, looking troubled. "And then perhaps he can ask one of the older students-"

"Sure," Ginny said, "but can he trust them? You said it yourself - if Voldemort-" Mum squeaked and made a flapping movement at Ginny, and Dad twitched but Ron was unmoved. Dumbledore didn't respond either, but to look between Ron and Ginny with thoughtful eyes. "-and his lot are pulling strings, who's to say he couldn't send someone in to pretend to be that student, or _Imperius_ them or something."

"It doesn't have to be a stranger; they could _Imperius you_ ," Mum said, and Ron's stomach sank. "Have you thought about that?"

"They can't," Ginny said. "I can fight it off." Ron stared at her and she gave him an even look. "When I heard the fourth years had done it, I stuck around after one of my lessons and asked Sirius to give me a go. Threw it first try."

"You said you couldn't bear if he was hurt, Ronnie - what if it was you that was made to do it?" Mum's voice wavered.

"Harry's noticed and pulled him out of it before," Ginny said, perhaps realising Ron couldn't find his voice, couldn't find an argument. "Down in the Chamber."

"And if he didn't notice?" Dad asked gently. "There'll be a lot going on-"

"Then I've had to learn to live with myself after hurting people, so I'm sure I could talk Ron through how to do it." Her tone was light, pleasant, but her eyes were hard. Mum gaped at her, and Dad made a small gesture like he wanted to reach out and pull her into a hug; Ron was fairly sure it was the most blatant she'd been about her first year with them, ever.

There was silence in the office, but for the soft whirring of silvery trinkets that reminded Ron of Bill's room, and the rustle of feathers as Fawkes adjusted himself on his perch.

"We just want to keep you safe," Mum whispered at last.

"You can't," Ginny said flatly. Ron elbowed her.

"Not for sure, not every time," Ron added, with a forced smile, "but they say there's safety in numbers, and four's twice as many as two. And maybe Harry can be a bit of a danger maggot-" At everyone's blank looks, he nodded at Dad. "You know, those little black rocks that muggles have that…?" He gestured pressing his hands together.

"Oh! Magnets!"

"Right," Ron said. "Magnet, then. But he always gets out of it. And so do we. He's never left us behind-"

"Seems like it's always him getting us out and getting stuck himself, actually," Ginny said.

"This once," Mum said, so sternly and angrily that it took Ron a moment to realise she was agreeing. "And only because you make a good case for being the best ones to go. And you're to practice. You tell Sirius I've said he's to help you with anything you need, since you'll be going into danger for Harry."

"He already is, Mum," Ginny said.

"Good! And if something like this comes up again, and someone of age can go instead, then you're not to even entertain the idea of getting involved, you're to leave it to the adul- Oh!" Ron had swept her up in a hug and she let out a trembling breath, then patted his cheek.

"Thanks," he said, lifting his arm so Ginny could get in on the hug too. Dad came around to squeeze Ron's shoulder. "I- I don't want to push my luck asking for more things when you've just agreed to this-" Mum drew back, expression fierce and just _daring_ him. "-but I don't suppose you could knit us more jumpers? If we're going to be a team, we should look the part."

Mum pulled him back into a hug so tight Ron almost feared for his ribs.


	29. Practice Makes Perfect

"-half of us are staff at the schools or wrapped up in the Tournament, somehow, so Hogsmeade's the best place for it - close enough that we can just slip away-"

"London's central," Mad-Eye grumbled. "Lots of ways in and out to throw off any tails…"

"Sure," Sirius said. "And I've said I'm happy to offer up my place, but I can't until I've told Harry because of the Fidelius, which means the next one has to be somewhere else, and Hogsmeade-"

"I'll talk to Ab," Mad-Eye grunted. "See if I can get us use of a back room." His mismatched eyes flicked over Sirius, even more unnerving in the green of the Floo. "Will you have told the boy by Christmas?"

"I'll have told him as soon as the second task's over," Sirius said. It wasn't an urgent discussion in that there was no new information coming in through the Order and they weren't running missions or raids or protective details just yet, so he'd opted to wait to tell Harry; he had more pressing things to worry about.

"Good. I'll-" There was a soft knock on Sirius' office door and in the time it took Sirius to glance up at it and then back to the fire, Mad-Eye had vanished.

"Paranoid old git," Sirius sighed, and got to his feet. He pulled the door to his quarters shut behind him as he stepped into his office, just in case it was a normal student - unlikely, given the late hour, but it _was_ still before curfew _-_ and pulled the door open. "Ron," he said, surprised; it was not surprising to see Ron, but it was surprising to see Ron _alone_. He didn't look injured or upset, so Sirius didn't think anything was wrong. Merlin, but he hoped Ron wasn't here for advice about the Hermione situation. "Everything okay?" he asked lightly.

"'S fine _now_ ," Ron said. "But it almost wasn't; Mum said you pretty much talked her out of letting us compete with Harry." Sirius sighed and stepped back to let him in.

"I'm not going to apologise," he warned. "If I could keep every single one of you out of this, I would."

"Obviously," Ron said, flopping down in the chair opposite Sirius' desk. "I need you to teach me to throw the _Imperius_ curse off. Should've come ages ago, right after we did it in class. I don't- I don't want them to use me to hurt anyone. Not in the task, and not at any other time."

"Seems sensible," Sirius said. He let out a gusty breath and drew his wand, rolling it contemplatively between his fingers.

"All right," he said. "I've seen it taught two ways; one's repeated casting, but that's going to take time I don't have tonight and it takes it out of you - headaches, dizziness, all that. The other's to put it on you and leave it on you, with a specific rule or instruction, and you can try to break it in your own time, but I understand if you don't want that-"

"If it's a silly rule I won't be motivated," Ron said. Sirius blinked; he'd been expecting hesitation about being under the curse for so long; it was one thing to let it be cast in short bursts, it was another to let it stay indefinitely. Sirius certainly wasn't going to abuse it, but it was still an enormous display of trust coming from Ron; Moony was the only person - living, anyway - that Sirius would trust to do the same for him.

"Depends what the rule is," Sirius said, finally. "But if you can go against a stupid instruction, chances are you'll be able to go against one that matters to you."

"All right," Ron said, nodding. "What's the rule?"

"That... you have to scratch your nose every time someone asks you a question? It'll be easy to know when you've beaten it, and it won't get you in trouble or make people think you're acting oddly. And if you've not beaten it by the task I'll take it off so you're not distracted."

"Okay," Ron said slowly. "Do it."

" _Imperio_ ," Sirius murmured, and whispered the instruction into Ron's head. Ron blinked glazed-over-eyes and refocused. "How do you feel?" Ron's face twitched and he scratched his nose.

"Like it's working," he grumbled. Sirius chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Need anything else?"

Scratch.

"No. Thanks." Ron smiled wryly. "I think."

* * *

"Where've you been?" Harry asked, as Ginny padded over in pyjama trousers and a too-big Weasley jumper (green, with a large orange C on it).

"Dumbledore's office," she said.

"With Ron?"

"And Hermione. Had to get Mum and Dad's permission to be in the second task." Harry imagined Mrs Weasley's reaction to that and grimaced.

"We're in," Ginny assured him. Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or not. Ginny leaned on the back of the armchair opposite his. "What've you been doing? Hiding?"

"No," Harry said. "Just- er-" He sighed. "Yeah, a bit."

It had been just over a week since Ron asked Hermione to the Ball, and the situation had not yet resolved itself; neither Ron or Hermione had gone into specifics about what exactly had unfolded (though Harry, Draco, and Ginny had theories), and, while they weren't hostile, or forcing Harry and the others to take sides, it _was_ incredibly awkward. Even Draco's father giving Ginny the diary hadn't resulted in such a shift in the group's dynamic.

Most of their trainings had been focused on non-verbal casting, which was probably for the best because no one seemed to have much to say, at least while Ron and Hermione were in the same room; training and the second task was all right to mention, but Champions were off limits because Ron's mouth would twist and Hermione would get defensive whenever Krum was mentioned, and the same went for the Ball, and, unfortunately, for Quidditch as well.

The only good thing about it was that it was very successfully distracting Harry from the second task, but that wasn't actually a good thing because he cared a great deal more about Ron and Hermione than the task, and having them at odds was causing him a great deal of stress.

"Even though there's nothing to need to hide from because everything's completely normal, right? You should've seen them in Dumbledore's office - they wouldn't even look at each other. Well, not at the same time. Ron kept glancing over all sad and worried and Hermione was all guilty." Ginny pulled a face and draped herself over the armchair with a groan. Her long, red hair dangled over the arm of the chair, ends just shy of the carpet.

Harry concentrated, flicked his wand, and grinned when she yelped and rubbed at her head.

"Nice," she said, with a reluctant grin. "You're getting good."

"Getting there." Good thing too - the task was only days away. "But still not as good as Draco," Harry said; Draco had taken to non-verbal casting with ease and been surprisingly modest about it, like it just made sense. "Or Ron."

"Yeah, didn't see that one coming," Ginny admitted; Ron had done it successfully on his first try (and every try since) and been incredibly pleased about the fact. Harry wondered if it had anything to do with him always staring at forks and quills and other bits and pieces, because he wore the same expression. Harry had been a bit slower to pick it up - really only starting to consistently manage it in the last day or so - despite already knowing how to cast the Seeing-Magic spell silently, and having experience with other non-verbal magics like apparition and his animagus transformation. Ginny was about on par with Harry, while Hermione was still very inconsistent (and not particularly pleased about it). "And hopefully, none of the other Champions will either." Harry grinned at that.

The Room's door opened to admit Draco, who glanced cautiously in, then slumped with relief and came to join them, flopping dramatically down onto the couch beside Harry with a groan.

"Us too," Ginny said. Draco snorted from beneath the arm draped over his face, and kicked his feet up into Harry's lap. The sound he made was so exhausted that Harry reconsidered his decision to push Draco's legs off, and instead gave his ankle a pat.

"Snape?" Harry asked. "Or er… Ron and Hermione…?"

"Greengrass, actually," Draco said. "She heard I'm taking Astoria to the Ball and wanted to tell me exactly what she thought of that."

"You've got a date?" Harry asked, surprised. Ginny didn't look surprised at all, which made sense; she was friends with both Greengrass twins.

"Yes," Draco said, scowling at Harry. "Don't sound so shocked."

"I'm not- you just hadn't mentioned it."

"You didn't ask."

"Asking about the Ball's a dangerous thing to do," Harry said wryly, and Draco snorted. "You should have just said something." Did Draco fancy Astoria? Harry didn't think he'd ever seen them interact.

"I did," Draco said. "Just now." Harry did push his legs off then, but not hard.

"Which one's Astoria?" he asked. "The tall twin, or the little one?"

"She's the shorter of the two," Draco said. "The one in Slytherin."

"When did you ask her?"

"He didn't ask her at all," Ginny said. "He wrote her a letter-"

"That's asking," Draco said, sitting upright to scowl at her.

"Barely," Ginny said, though Harry thought Draco had the right of it; asking by letter seemed like the easier, less scary option and he rather wished he'd thought of it with Luna; perhaps then she wouldn't have misunderstood.

"I think a written invitation is a far more respectful and appropriate way to ask someone to accompany you somewhere than wandering up and putting them on the spot is," Draco said, pink-cheeked.

" _To Miss Astoria Greengrass_ ," Ginny began, in a passable imitation of Draco's voice, " _As you know, the Yule Ball has been announced and I am in need of a date for the evening…"_

"Oh, shut up," Draco muttered, kicking at Harry, who was laughing. "She obviously didn't mind, because she replied with a letter."

"Yes: _To Mr Draco Malfoy,"_ Ginny said, in a posh voice, " _You are quite right in saying I will not be able to attend as a third year without a date, so I accept your invitation to the Yule Ball-"_

"That was private!"

"Not before she sent it, it wasn't." Ginny cut off with a laughing yelp as Draco flicked a non-verbal stinging jinx her way. Harry did his best to keep a straight face, but Ginny mimed attaching a letter to an owl's leg and swooning and his bark of laughter earned him a stinging jinx of his own… Or would have, if he hadn't cast a non-verbal shield charm.

"Not bad," Draco said.

"Thanks," Harry said, grinning, as he lowered his wand. "I-Ow!" Draco sniggered and pocketed his own.

"Are we going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" he asked.

"I am," Ginny said. "Luna and I are going shopping for dress robes, and a few last minute Christmas presents."

"I'm not," Harry said. "Dora's bringing Stella here and she and Padfoot and Moony and Marlene are going to do some last minute stuff with me and Ron. And you, if you're here, I s'pose." Hermione was going to Hogsmeade with Krum and had invited Harry and Draco - and by extension, Ron - along with them, but Harry couldn't imagine anything more uncomfortable, and so had made other plans which Ron had immediately jumped on. He didn't think Hermione minded; having Ron there would have been awkward, and this way, she'd get some proper time alone with Krum. It would probably be her last chance until after the second task, because all of Sunday would be dedicated to training, as would every spare, non-lesson moment on Monday and Tuesday.

"Be used for target practice and spell experimentation, or tag along, alone on a friend's date…" Draco mused. "Really, they're both such delightful options… I might see what Severus is doing."

" _That's_ a better option?" Ginny mouthed at Harry, whose mouth twitched. Draco glanced between them with narrowed eyes.

He did end up seeing Snape on the weekend, and Ginny and Hermione went off to their respective Hogsmeade trips as planned, so it was just Harry and Ron that led the adults up the passageway from Padfoot's quarters to the Room.

"Ruddy useful, this," Dora said, voice echoing a little in the tunnel.

"I'll say," Moony said, brushing a hand over the smooth stone. "James must be rolling in his grave right about now." Harry caught Padfoot's eye; he'd said something similar when they first started using it.

"And Lily'd be rolling in _hers_ just thinking about if you _had_ found it when we were at school," Marlene said, wincing as she extracted a chunk of her hair from Stella's grip. "You lot caused more than enough trouble without being able to create your own secret passageways to anywhere in the school." Padfoot and Moony exchanged grins.

"It's the getting back to where you come from that's tricky," Ron said. "'S why we had to come through here to meet you and then leave the tunnel open, because as soon as you leave the Room - or any extensions of it, I guess - it resets." He ducked past Harry to push open the door into the Room, ears turning a pleased red in response to the exclamations of awe and approval from the others. Harry nudged him and smiled, and Ron gave a sheepish grin back.

"So it can be whatever you want it to be?" Dora asked, poking through the bookshelf that lined the walkway over the training area.

"Sure," Ron said, rubbing his nose. He pulled a face, stepped off the edge of the walkway and Moony made startled sound and grabbed at him, but Ron was standing on a stone staircase that had formed out of nowhere to support him.

"Wicked," Dora said. Ron looked pleased again, and Harry was glad for it; he'd had very little confidence since the whole Hermione-Ball thing.

"How does it work?" Marlene asked. Ron made a weird twitching movement and almost poked himself in the eye.

"You ask," Harry said. He scrunched up his face, concentrating, and the maroon training mats below turned a bright, Cannons orange, then went back to their original colour. "Ron's better at it though."

The mats turned a familiar bubblegum pink and Dora grinned, scent delighted, her hair the same shade.

"It's like me," she said, and green spots appeared on the walls at the same time as they appeared on her face.

Padfoot tweaked her nose on his way past, joining Harry, who'd followed Ron's makeshift staircase down.

"What's on the agenda today, then?" he asked.

"Anything, really," Harry said. "As long as it's me and Ron against some or all of you."

"Shall we, Mister Moony?" Padfoot asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Of course, Mister Padfoot," Moony replied, eyes glinting.

"Marlene and I are next!" Dora called after them, sitting down on the edge of the walkway to watch.

Moony stepped onto Ron's staircase, then twitched in surprise as it lowered like a lift instead. Harry and Ron sniggered, then took up duelling stances in the middle of the mats.

"No Room stuff?" Ron asked. "Since we won't have it with us out there…"

"No Room stuff," Harry agreed, eyes on Moony and Padfoot, who hadn't even bothered to strategise, and had instead fallen into relaxed-looking fighting stances, side by side.

"Ready?" Padfoot called. Ron rubbed his nose again; it was rather red. Harry wondered if he was developing an allergy. Padfoot sniggered.

Harry responded with a non-verbal _Expelliarmus_ and Padfoot's wand came soaring toward him. Padfoot swore loudly, but before Harry could catch the wand, he was hit by something that sent him stumbling back - and Ron beside him - and Padfoot's wand changed direction in mid-air, flying into Moony's waiting hand instead. He tossed it to Padfoot.

"Keep a better hold of that, please, Sirius," he said, in the same tone as he'd used to ask Harry to put all four chair legs on the ground in first year Defence. Harry had time to grin a little but nothing else, because then spells were flying:

An _Obscuro_ blindfold slapped itself over Ron's face and Harry had to raise a hasty shield to cover them both from a pair of Stunners. A small wisp of fire curled out of Ron's wand and a second and a noseful of burning-fabric-smell later, Ron's blindfold was lying harmlessly on the ground; him practicing with fire hadn't stopped after the first task.

Harry dodged several jets of light and would have been caught by a third were it not for a well-placed Shield Charm of Ron's.

"Thanks! _Fragria!_ " Moony was too busy casting to block and staggered backward with a choking noise, a hand to his nose; that had been a find of Hermione's, who'd rightly guessed people with sensitive noses would find it particularly unpleasant (Harry could attest to that). Harry ducked under a jet of lime-green light.

" _Finite_ ," Padfoot said, and Moony sneezed and straightened. Padfoot flicked his wand and the floor rose up in a wave that tried to envelope both Harry and Ron.

" _Avea Apara,_ " Harry said, and a dome sprang up around them both. The floor completely covered it, plunging them into darkness.

" _Melumen,"_ Ron said, and a ball of light sprang into being over his shoulder. "What now?" He barely breathed the words, not because he was scared or worried, Harry didn't think, but because he was familiar enough with Harry's hearing to know they'd be giving Moony and Padfoot an advantage if he spoke too loudly.

Harry grinned, released his dome and said, " _Bombarda!_ "

The stone over their heads exploded outward.

" _Crustallum!"_ Padfoot had not been idle; his voice came from _behind_ them, and Harry ducked and rolled but Ron conjured a wall of fire that melted Padfoot's shards of ice before they could get anywhere close.

 _Procellus_ , Harry thought, and Moony had time to look startled before he was swept up in a small hurricane.

" _Stupefy_!" he added in Padfoot's direction, but Padfoot swatted it away and cast a spell that covered Ron in lime green goo.

" _Finite_ ," Harry said, but it did nothing. " _Scourgify_!" Ron yelped but the spell did free him and he stumbled out, right into a Stunner; Moony had escaped Harry's _Procellus_.

" _Caligo_ ," Harry said, and thick grey fog poured out of his wand. He crouched. _Accio, Ron._ A moment later, Ron's prone form bumped gently into his side and Harry thought _Rennervate._

Ron stirred with a confused noise and Harry gave him a push then jumped back himself; two spells - one from Padfoot's direction, one from Moony's - collided where they'd just been.

" _Exsugo_ ," Padfoot said, and the fog was sucked into his wand. Harry flung another Disarmer in his direction while his wand was occupied but his aim was off and it soared harmlessly past Padfoot's ear. He got a Shield in front of a still-disoriented Ron just in time to save him from whatever Moony's spell had been, and then a spell thudded into his side and Harry couldn't breathe.

 _Finite_ , he thought, but it did nothing. Though he knew it was Padfoot and Moony and they wouldn't actually _hurt_ him, he couldn't _breathe_ and he looked to Ron, panicked.

" _Avea apara_ ," Ron said, and the familiar orange dome sprung up. " _Finite_ ," he said, and Harry gasped in a mouthful of air. "All right?" he asked. Harry gulped again and nodded. Beyond the dome, Padfoot looked both impressed and put out.

"This is cheating," he said, flinging a casual Stunner, and sidestepping to dodge it when it came back at him. "And not likely to be of use in the second task if it involves any sort of moving around."

Ron glanced at Harry. Harry shrugged, turning so that Moony was in his line of sight. Ron dropped the dome.

Harry blocked Moony's Body-Bind, and heard Ron dodge Padfoot's attack, but a spell came from a third direction - Dora had got sick of waiting for her turn, it seemed - and hit Harry in the leg.

His feet tingled strangely and he tried to wiggle his toes which felt... wrong. He stayed where he was, not sure taking a step would be a good idea.

"Finite," he said, but didn't feel whatever it was fix itself. Dora winked and flung a length of rope at Ron, binding him tightly; he toppled over with a yell.

"Now who's cheating?" Harry asked Padfoot, who had him at wandpoint.

"Constant vigilance," he and Dora said in unison. Moony chuckled, coming around to join them, wand trained on Ron, who was grumbling on the ground.

"Yield?" Padfoot asked. Ron rubbed his face against the training mats, perhaps nodding.

Harry sighed, nodded, and gently lowered himself into a sitting position. Dora took pity on him and flicked her wand, and his feet went back to feeling normal.

"Ta," he said. Padfoot stepped over to Ron, but the ropes burned away before he could do anything to help.

"Nice," Padfoot said, arching an eyebrow, and offered him a hand up.

"Late," Ron said, but smelled pleased all the same.

"You're looking sharp," Moony said, looking between Harry and Ron. "Good form, good aim - Harry, I think yours was the only miss I saw - good variety of spells, and you cover each other well-"

"Mmm," Marlene said, "not bad for a warm up round." She passed Stella off to Padfoot, eyes gleaming and a small smile on her face. "Shall we give them a proper bout, Lupin?"

"Sounds good, McKinnon," Dora said, grinning as she waved Moony and Padfoot away. "Ready, lads?"

Harry got to his feet and into position beside Ron, who was scratching again.

He opened his mouth to say that they were ready, but Marlene had already launched a Stunner, and Dora was quick to turn the Room's floor to quicksand.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Harry said, and got Ron out of it. " _Finite_." Nothing happened; obviously it had been transfigured not charmed. " _Stupefy!_ "

Dora shrank several inches to avoid it, an amused look on her face, and flung something back.

" _Protego!_ " Harry said, because he couldn't move. Then: " _Ascendio_." He shot out of the floor but didn't go high, using his momentum to move to the side and then landed in a roll that brought him to his feet. A shield - Ron's shield - appeared in front of him in time to block a spell from Marlene.

 _Expecto Patronum!_ Prongs burst out of his wand, galloping at Dora, who dove out of the way, and then at Marlene, who - cool as anything - conjured her own lioness and sent it after Prongs.

" _Densissima,"_ Harry said, thickening the air around Dora to slow her down.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Ron said, and Marlene's wand went flying into Ron's hand. She looked surprised and then her eyes narrowed and she pointed at him. Ron smirked - as did Harry - at least until both Ron and Marlene's wands went soaring back to Marlene. Ron gaped at her and Harry sent a Stunner in Marlene's direction.

She conjured a glowing yellow ball that absorbed it, then pointed a wand each at him and Ron, and cast a pair of lilac spells simultaneously. Harry conjured a shield in front of Ron and rolled out of the way of the spell she'd directed at him. Dora's Disarmer caught him; clearly she'd predicted what he was going to do.

"Yield?" Dora asked, as she moved to stand by Marlene's side, four wands between them. Harry glanced at Ron - who was as empty-handed as he was.

"Yield," Ron agreed, wiping his face on the back of his hand. Marlene tossed him his wand, and Dora offered Harry his.

"You all right?" Harry asked, gesturing at Ron's red nose. Ron scratched and grumbled, waving him away.

"Again?" Dora asked, backing up.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, Ron rubbing his face against his shoulder - to get rid of sweat, or an itch, Harry wasn't sure - and nodded.

" _Torpeo_!"

" _Protego!_ "


	30. Champions' Companions

Draco caught Granger and Weasley by their elbows before they could follow Black, Harry, and She-Weasley into the competitors' tent.

They were both wearing black duelling vests adorned with the Walpurgis crest; theirs had been supplied by the Tournament organisers, not the Dark Lord, though, and so were simple quilted fabric, not dragonhide. Both wore black jumpers beneath - Mother Weasley's work - with a golden lion for Granger, and a red dragon for Weasley ("Like the toy ones, because I know you're with us," he'd said to Draco).

Neither of them wore much black except for school robes, and it made them look older and paler. Weasley in particular looked sharp; most of his clothes were family hand-me-downs or bought second hand, but the vest and trousers were new, fit like they'd been made for him (which they had), and didn't have that worn or faded look that pretty much everything else he wore did. Granger's wild hair had been braided back out of her face so neatly that Draco suspected Brown had had a hand in it.

He pulled them a short distance away from the tent and cast a _Muffliato_ \- a useful spell Severus had shown him - so they wouldn't be overheard.

Weasley glanced at Granger as if to catch her eye, but she wasn't looking. Then, seeming to remember things were strained, helooked back to Draco. Barely a moment later Granger glanced back at Weasley - habit seemingly overcoming whatever rules she'd set for herself - and seemed both relieved and saddened to not find him looking back.

"Merlin," Draco sighed, then gestured between them. "This has to stop." To their credit, neither pretended not to know what he was talking about; Granger blushed and Weasley scowled. "I've kept out of it so far because it's not my business, and because I've got more important things to do than worry about your little non-lovers'-spat, and because I thought you'd work it all out on your own, but you haven't." They were both red now.

"We don't have time for this, Draco," Granger said, biting her lip and glancing back at the tent.

"Exactly," Draco snapped. "So you need to resolve this, or agree to disagree or _something_ because the task's about to start and you two need to be in there looking after each other and She-Weasley, and Potter, not being- this." He stared them both down until Granger shifted. "If you can't, you need to tell me now, so we can do a last minute swap. Me, for one of you."

"Is that…" Weasley's eyes flicked to Granger. "Safe?"

Draco shrugged; this late, it would be almost impossible for there to be a staged test of his loyalty, but he'd still be putting his image at risk by standing by Potter in such a public setting.

"Safer than the alternative, maybe," he said, giving them both a pointed look.

"We can't ask you to risk it," Weasley said, with another cautious glance at Granger. "You haven't been training as much, haven't been able to prepare..." Draco heard the unspoken _You haven't had the chance to think through all the risks._

"No," Draco agreed, giving him a tight smile. He'd given it _some_ thought, obviously - Gryffindor he may be, but he was _not_ reckless - but not as much as he'd have liked, not as much as he needed to be sure it was a good decision. "But if it's necessary..." If he had to risk himself to save them from themselves, to make sure Potter got out of this, then he would.

"It's not," Granger said, reaching forward to give his hand a squeeze. "Really, Draco, I know it's been a bit- but we're still going to look out for each other. And the others. We're still friends." She bit her lip and glanced at Weasley. This time, he met her gaze. "Right, Ron?"

"Always," Weasley said, quiet and a bit uncomfortable, but genuine. "We've got this, mate." He smiled at Draco but his eyes were serious, certain.

"You'd better," Draco said warningly. He gave them one more long look each, then released his spell and strode off to join the Weasley family, the Lupins, Jordan, Creevey, and Lovegood in the stands.

* * *

"Where'd they go?" Harry hissed to Ginny, who shook her head, frowning; Ron and Hermione had been right behind them, she was sure of it.

"They'll be here," Sirius said giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Maybe they just needed a moment."

" _Now_?" Harry asked weakly. Ginny thought she rather agreed; Ron and Hermione had had weeks to sort themselves out. Although, better now than not at all…

"Hello, Harry," a thin, bespectacled wizard said, coming to join them. He was carrying a clipboard and wore a pair of neat, navy robes. "Auror Black-"

"Professor Black," Sirius said, drawing himself up. The badge on his chest flashed with lightning as if to emphasise his point. Ginny's own badge flashed a moment later, from its spot covering the Walpuris coat of arms on her vest. "Yes, well." The wizard looked uncomfortable and apologetic. "I'm afraid you still can't be in here-"

"Told you," Harry muttered.

"Worth a shot," Sirius sighed. He drew Harry in for a quick hug, and gave Ginny's shoulders a squeeze. She was surprised but grateful for it. "Be careful out there, yeah?"

They nodded at him and he left.

"So," said the wizard, "you must be one of the Weasleys."

"What gave it away?" Ginny asked, deadpan. His mouth twitched and she decided he reminded her a bit of Percy. "Ginny," she said, offering him her hand. He shook it, smiling.

"William Pemberley." He looked back to Harry. "And where are the others?" He glanced down at his clipboard. "I've got here that you've got another Weasley, and a Granger?"

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing briefly at the tent flap. She could see it on his face, the moment he went from confused and a bit nervous to genuinely worried. "They're-"

"There," Ginny said, as Ron and Hermione stepped inside. Something inside her eased at the sight of them, and Harry sagged beside her. Pemberley looked equally relieved, and jotted something down on his clipboard. Then, he signalled to Bagman, who bounced into the centre of the tent to stand beside a table, the lumpy surface of which was covered by a large purple cloth.

"Now that we're all here… Shall we introduce ourselves?" He rubbed his hands together. "On Team Durmstrang, we have Miss Nina Morozov-" Morozov was a willowy blonde girl with sharp blue eyes and a nose that looked like it might have been broken before and healed wrong. "-and Mr Luca Popa-" A swarthy boy tall and broad enough to make Ginny think he might be part-giant. "-and of course, Mr Viktor Krum." Krum glowered at the ground. All three of them wore blood-red vests and black trousers.

"On Team Hogwarts, we have Mr Patrick Stebbins-" That was the handsome, dark haired boy who'd been in Dumbledore's office because he was underage. "- Mr Thomas Fisher-" Another handsome boy, dark-skinned, with an easy smile and hair-dyed Hufflepuff yellow. "-and Mr Cedric Diggory." All three boys wore Hufflepuff yellow and black, but had the Hogwarts crest on their backs.

"Team Walpurgis is Miss Ginny Weasley-" Ginny lifted her chin as eyes landed on her, skimmed over her face, her black uniform, the _Support Harry Potter_ badge she wore. She felt a tingle of magic as she did and stiffened until she realised Dumbledore was the source; he pointed his wand at Ron next, and she relaxed a little. "-Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger-" Ginny saw Krum's mouth twitch up slightly but only because she was watching for a reaction. "-and our one and only, Mr Harry Potter." Harry grimaced.

"Lastly, we have the lovely ladies from Team Beauxbatons… Miss Renee Colbert-" A tall girl with glasses and brown hair and a shy smile. "- Miss Elodie Garcon-" A stocky girl with a long, dark braid and eyes only for Krum. Quidditch fan or player, Ginny guessed. "-and Miss Fleur Delacour."

"Diagnostics match their claimed ages," Pemberley said, nodding at Dumbledore. "And each team's got the number of years equal to or lower than the number of points given last task."

"Marvellous," Bagman said, rubbing his hands together again. He twisted and pulled the cloth off the table to reveal a jumble of large slices of what Ginny thought looked like sort of exotic, jewel-like fruit; the slices had a golden rind, and a glowing, whitish flesh. They were also shrieking and Harry's hands jumped up to block his ears. It was a severe reaction compared to the scrunched faces of everyone else, but then, not everyone had his hearing, either.

Bagman draped the cloth back into place and the noise stopped.

"Recognise them?" he asked.

"They're the eggs," Diggory said, uncertain.

"Good, good," Bagman said. "They are. Unfortunately, we were a bit careless with our storage of them and they're now a bit broken up. Quartered, actually-" Hermione's hand lifted tentatively. "Yes?"

"Sorry, Mr Bagman, but there were only enough quarters for three eggs..."

"There were!" Bagman said, delighted. "Not only were we careless enough to let them get a bit broken, but we also lost one..." He shook his head in affected contrition. "Thankfully, we know where the lost egg - or rather its pieces are."

"The arena, probably," Harry muttered to Ron, who nodded.

"It's in the arena!" Bagman said. Fleur wore an expression of polite interest, Diggory looked patient, but Harry looked exasperated and Krum looked like this whole thing was an inconvenience. "So. So, so so…! Each team starts with three egg pieces and you want a fourth. Any fourth - all the pieces are the same. So, you can find one of the hidden- ahem, _lost_ pieces, _or_ you can take them from another team." This announcement was met with silence, but a lot of flickering eyes; eyes meeting within teams, eyes sizing up people from other teams. "Take them from the weakest team - perhaps that's easier - or take them from the team of the Champion that's the biggest threat, because it'll disadvantage them next task."

All eyes went to Bagman at that point and he seemed to revel in the attention; Fleur seemed considering, Krum was frowning, Diggory seemed excited, and Harry's jaw was set, his eyes sharp.

"You see," he said, "each bit of the egg contains a bit of information about the third task, where it is, what you'll be up against, and what you have to do, so you'll know how to prepare… that's information you Champions are going to _want,_ believe me. So, you have half an hour in there. In that time, you've got to find your fourth piece - and keep the other three-" He chuckled at that. "-and put the egg back together. Any pieces not combined to make an egg at the end of the half hour will vanish. You can combine any number of pieces into an egg at any time, but once formed, an egg can't be broken up again or added to."

He paused then to look around, as if to let that sink in, but not a single Champions' expression had changed.

"If it's made with less than four pieces, you'll be missing potentially vital information. There's no extra information for making an egg with, say, six pieces, but you will be keeping that information from other Champions… in theory; like pieces, eggs can be stolen from other competitors at any time - all that matters is who's holding it when time runs out. Damaris?"

"The egg pieces can't be resized or transfigured," Sprottle said. Pemberley nodded along with her, like was was going over the same things in his head. "They cannot be summoned. They cannot be duplicated. No single person will be able to carry more than two pieces at a time-"

"So I hope you've picked your teams carefully, Champions," Bagman interjected, "because you're going to have to _trust_ them."

"Indeed," Sprottle said, eyes sweeping over them all. "You'll also find this arena impervious to anything you might try to summon in-" Her eyes went to Harry and her mouth quirked up slightly. "-or send out. Anything you can conjure or transfigure within the arena, is, of course, perfectly acceptable. As we are within their jurisdiction, all spells you use must be legal in the eyes of the British Ministry of Magic."

"I've got the Ministry's list of prohibited spells for you to look at if you need to," Pemberley said. "Especially for foreign teams."

"Questions?" Sprottle asked.

"'Ow do we put ze egg back togezzer?" Fleur asked, after a moment. "Eez zere a charm, or-"

"A member of your team will be taught before the task commences," Sprottle replied. "If there are no other questions…" She waited for a moment but everyone was silent. "Separate into your teams - there's a section of the tent for each. You'll have ten minutes, in which time one of your members will be taught how to remake the egg, and you can strategise. Then we'll be underway."

"Best of luck to you all," Bagman said, heading for the tent's flap. As it opened, Ginny heard the excited babbling of the crowd outside and everything started to sink in a little.

"C'mon." Ron grabbed Ginny's elbow and steered her into a pocket of the tent after Harry and Hermione. It was quiet, no noise reaching them from the rest of the tent, but Harry flicked his wand anyway and the familiar purple of a Silencing Charm shimmered over the canvas walls.

"Hermione," Harry said, "reckon you're up to learning about the egg?"

"Of course," she said, with a small smile.

"Thanks," he said, frowning down at the table. Ginny moved closer to look; on it was the list of forbidden spells Pemberley had mentioned, and a sketched map of what must be the arena.

It was large and round, with what looked like four entry points equally spaced around it. Each had a school coat of arms on it. There was a round structure in the centre of the sketch - some sort of platform, perhaps - and there were other shapes - mostly squares - dotted around the rest of the area. More platforms? Or traps? Or something else? There was nothing on the map to suggest where the other egg pieces might be.

"Is that supposed to be here?" Ron asked, eyes wide.

"Surely," Hermione said. Ginny glanced up, surprised; she hadn't heard Hermione speak to Ron so amicably in weeks. "No one could have known we'd choose this part of the tent…"

"Team Walpurgis," Pemberley said, and Ginny jumped, having not heard his approach through the Silencing Charm. "Have you decided who's going to learn how to create the egg?"

"I am," Hermione said. Pemberley nodded and gestured for her to join him.

"Potter, as Champion you have to start where the Walpurgis crest is marked, but the rest of your team can start anywhere within the arena." Pemberley waved a hand at the map on the table. "Give that some thought while you're here." He led Hermione away.

"No thought needed, I don't reckon," Ron said. "We stay together, right?"

"Absolutely," Harry said, eyes still on the map.

"Who's carrying our three pieces?" Ginny asked. "Will we do two and one? Or one, one, and one?"

"Splitting them up makes the most sense," Ron said. "That way if someone's attacked, we're not giving away multiples. And we've got four people, so there's no need to double up, even once we find the extra." As he spoke he poked and pulled at his vest. "Question is _how_ do we carry them?"

By the time Hermione returned, Ginny and the boys had managed to conjure misshapen but functional pockets on the insides of their vests. Hermione, of course, pulled out her wand and amended her own vest very neatly.

"Got the spell?" Ron asked.

"It's not-" Hermione spluttered and coughed and put a hand to her throat. Harry moved forward, alarmed and she waved him off. "I know what to do," she said, and coughed again. "And- we have to be here to do it." She tapped the circle in the middle of the map. "I don't think I'm physically able to say any more, though. Where've you got to here?"

"Starting together," Ron said, and Hermione smiled. Ginny gave them another look and noticed Harry doing the same, a relieved look on his face. "We'll carry a bit of egg each to start, Harry can grab the last one-"

"Oh, good," Hermione said. She looked a little sheepish. "I was worried you might just toss the eggs at whoever and go and stand somewhere out of the way, Harry."

"Thought about it," Harry muttered, then sighed. "But if it's information about the next task, I need it. Bagman said 'where it is' and 'what you'll be up against'... That makes it sound like it's not just going to be an arena at Hogwarts like this one and the last one. I need to know what to expect, and how Voldemort might be able to use that, _especially_ if it's outside the grounds." He ran a hand through his hair. "And if it's creatures and not just the other Champions, I need to know too." He smiled suddenly, wry though it was. "Imagine how I'd have fared against the Horntail if it'd be sprung on me."

"I'd rather not," Hermione said, pulling a face. She stuck her hands into the pockets she'd made. "Will our vests be enough to keep the eggs quiet?"

"Depends on if it's the tablecloth or the dark or something else that does it," Harry said.

"I reckon we just Silence them," Ron said.

"If we can," Ginny muttered; it wouldn't surprise her if the things shrieked the whole time, just to make the task that little bit harder.

"We'll manage," Ron said. He put his hands on Harry's shoulders in a bracing sort of way, smiled shyly at Hermione - then more genuinely when she returned it - and then at Ginny. "We've got this. And in half an hour or so, it'll all be over and done with."

Harry let out a deep breath, nodded, then glanced up, expression pained, and Ginny knew what he was going to say before he even got the words out.

"You know it's not too-"

"Shut up, Harry," she said, at the exact same time as Hermione reached for his hand and said, "We're with you, Harry," and Ron said, "Wasting your breath, mate."

The three of them exchanged amused looks while Harry blinked around at them, then straightened abruptly, eyes going over Ginny's shoulder. Pemberley stepped within the Silencing Charm's boundary a moment later and the egg pieces in his arms became audible. Ron and Hermione scrunched up their faces; Harry flinched, hands coming up to cover his ears, expression pained.

Ginny plucked a piece from Pemberley's hold and shoved it into her vest. As soon as it was concealed within her pocket, its screeching stopped. Ron and Hermione traded a swift look then copied her, the tent falling back into silence.

"Awful things," Pemberley said, watching them tug and pat at their vests; the egg pieces were hard and bulky and heavy. The angle Ron's was sitting at made him look pregnant, but before Ginny could say anything, Hermione had snorted and moved to help him. "All sorted?" he asked when they were still. Harry caught Ginny's eye, then those of the other two, then nodded. Pemberley straightened his robes and gave a nervous nod back. "Follow me."


	31. The Second Task

"Another day, another task!" Bagman said, voice echoing through the arena. It was a large space - probably about the same as the dragon area had been - but where the dragon arena had been rocky and hilly and with a smattering of trees throughout it, this arena was completely barren. Dusty red earth covered the flat arena floor, and it was all wide-open space, which was strange, because the map of the arena had definitely had things in it... Harry squinted and looked hard at the middle, where he could just see the faint outline of a tall tower, only visible when it caught the light a certain way, and even then only barely.

Harry's starting platform was a good thirty feet above the ground - just below the slanting start of the stands - but easily a hundred feet below the highest level of the tower-like structure. The only way he could tell that's where it ended was because there was a person up there. Stebbins, he thought.

"That'll be where we put the egg together," Hermione said, nodding at the top of the tower. She had a hand up to cover her eyes against the sky's glare and the strange reflection of the tower.

"Oh good," Ron muttered. "That's nice and easy to get to." Harry squinted even harder and then saw what Ron meant; the tower - at least as far as he could see - didn't look to have stairs or a ladder of any kind, only a series of ring-shaped, unconnected platforms around its outside.

"Now, you know our Champions, but it's more than them out there today… Accompanying Miss Fleur Delacour is…"

Harry tuned out and went back to scanning the arena. He could see Fleur, Garcon, and Colbert to the right, but Krum only had Popa standing with him on Harry's left; Morozov, Cedric and Fisher were on the other side of the tower, directly opposite Harry.

"That's brave," Ginny said, eyes on Morozov.

"It's smart," Ron said, glancing up briefly as Bagman called his name. "As long as she doesn't have a piece to lose if it goes badly; if it goes well, she'll be able to carry two away. Cedric's winning, so it'd make sense to want to target him."

"Cedric's tied for winning," Hermione said. "Harry's got the same points-"

"Harry's also got an extra person on his team," Ginny said. "Worse odds, even if we are younger." Harry also wondered if it wasn't Hermione's presence keeping Krum from setting his teammates on them from the get-go, but was wise enough not to suggest it.

Bagman's tone changed and Harry tuned back in:

"... this arena, a good team will make the difference between success and failure, and our Champions are going to work that out… imminently."

"Ominous," Ron muttered.

"I think that's just Bagman," Ginny said, snorting.

"So if you're ready, Champions, your time's starting… NOW!" There was a gasp from the crowd and then a cheer and Harry jerked his wand up. "Team Hogwarts loses a piece of their egg- no, two pieces to Team Durmstrang - nice wandwork and no sympathy from Miss Morozov!" Stebbins was pacing in careful but urgent circles at the top, apparently looking for a way down. "Yes," Bagman said, "I'd be trying to get to them too, Mr Stebbins!"

"Let's move," Harry said.

The question was where? Their starting platform ended abruptly, with nothing beneath it but a thirty foot drop. That was easy enough to get down - a few cushioning or ground softening charms, and air-thickening charms and they'd just about be right to jump off - but was that where they were meant to go?

"There," Ginny said, just as a glint of reflected light caught Harry's eye. About level with their platform was something, perhaps a spell, or a trap, perhaps something invisible. Ron cocked his head, then ran at it, jumping, and even as Harry reached out to pull him back, he landed on something. ("A Gryffindor, that one, for sure!" Bagman called).

"Disillusioned," Ron said, looking pleased with himself. He tapped his foot against something solid and nodded.

"That's easy, then." Hermione lifted her wand. " _Fin_ -" Harry forced her arm up and her spell went whizzing off to collide with the tower. A single stone became visible. "Harry!"

"Remember the keys in first year," he said. Her eyes widened. "You might accidentally remove whatever's keeping it there too."

"We don't have to see it. Edge is here," Ron said, sliding his foot around. "It's not far." He shuffled over to make room and held an arm out to Hermione, who hopped across. He reached for Harry next, then Ginny.

"Team Walpurgis is on the move," Bagman called. Harry glanced over at Fleur's team and saw they were watching and had begun to clamber onto their own platform. "Team Beauxbatons quick on the uptake, they're moving too, now."

It was a strange sensation, even for someone like Harry who was very comfortable with heights and open air, to not be able to see what he was standing on, to be able to see straight through it to the ground below. He found himself taking small, shuffling steps, unable to completely trust it. Ginny walked normally, not seeming at all bothered, and Ron kept glancing down and pulling faces, but Hermione was visibly struggling; she kept shooting her feet nervous looks, and was rather pale.

"Weird, isn't it?" he said.

"That's one word for it," she said, swallowing. He reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, tight, and didn't let go.

They found the next platform just off to the left, which turned out to be an invisible staircase, jumped down to another platform, then took turns levitating each other over the six foot gap to the ring around the tower.

A spell streaked past Ginny, who overbalanced and threw herself to her knees to keep from toppling over. Hermione sent a neat Stunner back at Morozov, who'd also figured out the platforms, and was making her way back to where Krum and Popa were both still on their starting platform, frowning around the arena. She was forced to jump off the platform to avoid it, but landed easily on another one a few feet below - by luck or on purpose, Harry wasn't sure.

Harry pulled Ginny to her feet and away from the edge.

Hermione had put her wand between her teeth and was patting the glassy, near invisible wall of the tower. Ron and Ginny followed her lead and Harry headed around the other side - or tried to; he walked into something before he could get to where he'd intended. He felt it, unable to work out what it might be, and then toppled backwards with a groan as ropes coiled themselves around him. His wand rolled to a stop several inches away, and Stebbins dropped down from above, grimacing - it was a ladder Harry'd walked into.

"Sorry, Potter," he said, coming to stand over Harry as Harry tried to wriggle free; transforming wasn't an option, not with this many eyes on him. Stebbins yanked Harry into a sitting position and patted him down. Harry pretended to overbalance, tipping to the side and managed to hook a finger around his wand. He palmed it into a better hold.

"Where's your piece?" Stebbins asked, frowning.

"Haven't got one," Harry said, and thought, _Relashio!_ The ropes dropped off and Stebbins leapt back, firing off a Stunner which Harry rolled to avoid, just as Ginny burst around the side and narrowly missed Stebbins with her own spell. Stebbins retreated a few steps, only to back into Ron who'd come around the other side, and caught him with a simple Body-Bind.

"All right, mate?" Ron asked, hauling Harry to his feet, as Ginny wandered over to Stebbins.

"Fine," Harry said. "Good timing." Ron grinned. Ginny suddenly collided with Harry; she'd been knocked back as a Shield Charm sprang into place between her and Stebbins, courtesy of Cedric, from quite a ways below them. It held while a second spell hit Stebbins and he unfroze, rolling off the edge of the platform. Harry hurried to the edge after him, but he was drifting slowly down to another platform, unharmed.

"Close call for team Hogwarts," Bagman said. "So... Team Durmstrang with five pieces, Walpurgis and Beauxbatons with three, and Hogwarts with one, folks!"

"I've spotted one of the arena pieces!" Hermione appeared around the side of the tower, eyes bright.

"Brilliant," Ron said, hurrying after her.

"Here." She leaned into the tower, and Harry, sure he was going to hit his head, copied her, but there was an opening. It seemed the tower was hollow - at least below where they were - and at the very base of it was a gleam of gold.

Ginny squeezed under Harry's arm for a look, and Ron was peering over Hermione's shoulder.

"Can't be that easy, can it?" Ron asked.

"One way to find out," Ginny said, ducked properly under Harry's arm, sliding her foot forward along the ground. "It's not; there's no ledge or steps, or anything. It just… ends."

"I s'pose we just jump, then," Harry said. "Or levitate ourselves down, or something?"

"Not all of us," Hermione said, shaking her head. "At least one of us has to stay here so we know where the opening is."

"We could leave a marker," Ginny said. "Conjure a flag, or-"

"Hermione's idea's better," Ron said. "If there are traps, it's probably for the best that we're not all caught in them, too."

"Two and two, then," Hermione said. "That way, no one's on their own. Harry'll go down-" Harry raised his eyebrows. "It's your piece, and you've had the most practice at falling and landing spells." He shrugged, nodding. "I'm happy to stay. I've got the least experience with falling and landing and no real desire to get more if I don't absolutely have to." She smiled, a little sheepishly. "Ron, Ginny?"

"I'll go," Ginny said. "I'm smaller, and I know some… different magic." She paused, scent suddenly awkward. "Unless Ron wants to go? I can stay with Hermione and you can stay with Harry, if that'd work better."

"No," Hermione said, "it's fine. You're right, it makes sense for you to go. We'll be fine." Ron nodded. Harry glanced between Ron and Hermione, who looked a little uncomfortable, but not excessively so.

"All right," Harry said, and stepped off the ledge. He stayed upright, controlling the speed of his fall with short, powerful _Ventus_ charms, and then cast a cushioning charm and an air thickening charm, landing with bent knees on the red dirt. It was strange - by all rights it should feel a bit like being at the bottom of a well, but it was brightly lit thanks to the completely transparent sides of the tower, though sound from the outside - Bagman, and the crowd - was muffled. It was especially odd to look up and see Hermione and Ron peering down, apparently floating in mid-air.

He could see the other Champions, too; Cedric and Fisher had joined up with Stebbins and were on the move, leaping across the invisible platforms several levels above - but still below Ron and Hermione - toward Krum and Popa. Morozov was slumped over on a platform, while Fleur and Colbert examined the egg pieces she'd been carrying.

Ginny landed lightly beside him, and gave Hermione a thumbs up; she'd levitated her down.

"Durmstrang three, Beauxbatons five- Durmstrang four, Beauxbatons four!" Harry looked back up to the group of girls and saw Morozov land heavily on a platform ten feet below the Beauxbatons lot, egg piece in one hand, wand in the other. Colbert was clutching her knee, but Fleur flung a spell down that would have hit her, only Popa was there with a Shield charm and Krum lifted Morozov to her feet. "Dirty tactics, but they're effective!"

"Harry!" Ginny said, making a move like she might start forward towards him, and then backed away until - presumably - she had her back to the tower; he was ankle deep in the sand, and, though it shifted like sand, his feet felt like they were trapped in thick mud. Ginny was doing an awkward jig on the spot to keep her shoes free. Harry tried to pull his feet free, but that only made him sink faster; he was up to his knees now.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Harry said, at the same time as Ginny said, " _Duro_!" She jerked several inches into the air, then hovered there, and Ginny's spell turned the sand into grey stone. It meant Harry was no longer sinking, but he was now very much stuck. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Let me down," she said, and he did. She took several cautious steps forward, footsteps echoing, then pointed her wand at the stone around him and said, " _Excavium_." Harry, who'd been expecting a _Reducto_ or something equally violent, relaxed, and watched, impressed, as the stone around his legs scooped itself out. "Bill's got some good stories," Ginny said simply.

He accepted her hand out of the crater and together, they approached the egg piece, which was sitting innocently on the stone ground.

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny, then bent to prod it with his wand. His wand tip struck an invisible barrier an inch above it. Tentatively, he tried with his hand, then his boot, only to meet the same resistance.

" _Finite_ ," Ginny tried, to little avail. Harry tried to levitate the egg piece out, but couldn't. " _Reducto_ ," Ginny said calmly, and though the stone outside the barrier was blasted loose, the egg and barrier remained intact.

"Don't suppose Bill has any other stories?" he asked.

"Loads," Ginny said, easing off her own boot. She tried to slide the boot in from one side and her hand in from the other - perhaps she had a swap in mind - but that didn't work either. She shoved her foot back into her boot and paced around it, frowning. Harry tried wetting it and burning it, and unlocking it for good measure, then rocked back on his heels.

"Hermione!" Harry called, and her bushy head leaned further into the tower's innards. "There's some sort of barrier or ward around the egg. Any ideas?"

"Have you tried _Finite_?" she called back.

"Yes!" Ginny replied, rolling her eyes at Harry.

"What does the barrier look like?"

"It's invisible!" Ginny called.

" _Revelio_ ," Harry tried, and the air shimmered slightly, but that was all. "I'm going to try something," he said, and thought, _Ostendere me omnia_.

The tower glowed pink and Harry could see an archway at their level as well as the one that Hermione - pale blue, flecked with swirls of gold - and Ron - a dark green and gold, with the consistency of pine needles - were looking through. Ginny was a sunny metallic yellow, with streaks of black that moved unnervingly like ink in water. He blinked, adjusting to the brightness - thankfully, it was not as blinding as the inside of Hogwarts had been, the last time he tried this - and looked to the egg.

The barrier was a soft green, dome shaped, with strands of magic meeting like a spiderweb at a single point. A rune - Harry had seen enough of Hermione and Draco's homework to know that much - rested atop it, though he had no idea which rune it was or what it did.

"It's a rune," he said to Ginny, and traced the wonky Z shape out for her. "Like this. Any idea?"

"Eihwaz," she said, sounding like she was smiling. "It means defence."

"You're sure?" he said, pleased.

"Bill gave me an amulet and it's on there. I'm sure."

"Great," he said. "So how do we get past it?"

"No idea," she admitted.

"Hermione!" Harry called again. "There's an eihwaz rune on the barrier! How do we get past it?"

"Ordinarily you'd just need its merkstave-" she called back.

"Its what?" Harry and Ginny shouted.

"Its reverse!"

"So attack?! If eihwaz is defence-" The shiny yellow and black that was Ginny bobbed its head.

"No!" Hermione said. "No, eihwaz comes from the futhark alphabet and defence is only one interpretation. It can also be protection, motivation, and reliability, and its opposites are destruction, weakness, and confusion, but that's all a bit of a moot point because eihwaz is always in the upright position, so-" Ron said something Harry didn't catch, and Hermione snapped something back, then, more loudly, said, "You'll have to draw a rune to destroy it!" Still audibly, but less so, Harry could hear her thinking aloud: "Eihwaz is also a yew tree - a death tree - so life, or fire… Kenaz might work, or- Sowelo!" More loudly, she cried, "Use Sowelo! It looks like your scar, Harry!"

Ginny drew her wand, glanced at Harry's forehead, and, with Harry to guide her to the right place, traced a glowing lightning bolt over the eihwaz rune. It glowed a bright orange, then there was a flash of white light and the barrier collapsed.

Immediately, the egg piece began to shriek.

Harry winced and tucked it hastily into his vest, sighing as the tower fell silent again. Then he leaned back, blinking, letting his eyes go back to normal; the magic had left streaks across his vision, but after a few moments, he could see.

"You're brilliant, Hermione," he shouted, and she laughed from above: distantly, Harry could hear Bagman announcing they had four pieces. "We're coming back up!" He swished and flicked at Ginny, who rose steadily upward and then was pulled by Ron onto the platform, then raised his wand above his head: " _Ascendio_!" He shot up, perhaps a little too fast, and cancelled the spell when he drew near. Hermione caught his hand and pulled him back through.

"Team Walpurgis with four!" Bagman said. "Team Hogwarts with two, Beauxbatons with four, Durmstrang with four!"

"Move" Ron said, making a shooing gesture. "Best if we've done what we need to up there before they all start showing up, eh?" Krum, Popa, and Morozov were on a platform about twenty feet away and six feet higher. Fleur, Garcon, and Colbert were running up what looked to be an invisible staircase. Cedric, Fisher, and Stebbins were only a platform below.

"Right," Harry said, groping his way through the air until he found the ladder Stebbins had come down originally. He swung himself up onto it.

The others followed; atop the ladder was another platform wrapped around the tower, but searching revealed there was no ladder up.

"No handholds, either," Ron said, and Ginny shook her head; they'd been feeling their way around the tower.

"Platforms there," Hermione said, pointing about three feet down, "and there." She pointed again, about six feet out, where there was a telltale glint.

"Doesn't make sense to go down," Ginny said, and took a running jump. Hermione copied her, stumbling a little as she landed; it was only that that saved her from a spell from below.

Ron shot a spell back at Fisher but Cedric conjured a shield that reflected it back. Harry tugged Ron further around the tower and out of the way.

Fisher cast at Hermione and Ginny again; Hermione blocked it, Ginny cast something back, but there wasn't much room for them to move.

Sudden shrieking made Harry flinch.

"Catch!" Ron said, tossing his egg piece at the girls. Hermione just stared at it, but Ginny snatched it out of the air. She pressed it into Hermione's hands in time to catch Harry's; he'd caught on.

"Go!" Ron said, pointing at the next platform, and peripherally, Harry saw the girls jump over to it.

"I've got this way!" Harry said, and Ron nodded, heading around the other way.

Cedric was head and shoulders through the ladder hole, but Fisher was already through and kept Harry at wandpoint. Cedric pulled himself up in time to train his wand on Ron, and the four of them stood in a stalemate. Stebbins hauled himself up last.

"Told you you're not the losing sort," Cedric said, giving Harry a wry grin. He smelled more amused than anything. Harry grimaced.

"Can't you go after a different team?" Ron asked. "Krum, maybe? We'd even help, wouldn't we, Harry? Hogwarts all working together."

"The other teams are all still together," Stebbins said. "You lot've split, and you're younger. Better odds. And if we wait long enough, there'll only be one egg to take, rather than individual pieces."

"It's strategy," Cedric said, a little apologetically. "And it doesn't even have to be a competition. If you don't want to win, you'll let us have this. I owe you, anyway, so it's not like I'd let you go in to the third task blind." Harry blinked, having not considered that. Cedric was being honest - he could smell it. It was hard not to get competitive when they were standing in the arena, but that was just the adrenaline talking. Cedric winning would be a Hogwarts victory - and Harry'd much prefer that to a Walpurgis one - and, as long as he got the information he needed about the next task...

He leaned forward slightly to get a look at Ron's face. He looked thoughtful, and tipped a shoulder up into a shrug when he saw Harry looking.

"All-" There was a shout and then fog wrapped around them, thick and grey. Harry flicked his wand to clear it, but it didn't work. He could hear the whizz of spells, see the occasional flash of coloured light; Beauxbatons had arrived, and perhaps Dumstrang as well. "Ron?!"

"Here!" Ron shouted back, closer than Harry had expected. The fog was thick and made it hard for Harry to smell anything, but his ears still worked and a few shuffling steps later his searching hand found a shoulder. A wand jabbed him in the chest, but a familiar voice said. "Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, and then Ron dragged him down as a spell crackled overhead.

"Neat bit of spellwork by Garcon!" Bagman said. "She's managed to trap all of Hogwarts, and half of Walpurgis." There was a flash of blue and a grunt, and then the platform shuddered as someone landed heavily. Harry tried to vacuum the fog into his wand the way Padfoot had on the weekend, but that didn't work either. Ron was conjuring small balls of flame and light to little avail.

" _Protego_!" Harry gasped, deflecting an orange spell. Footsteps made the platform shake. "We need to move." He huffed as someone tripped over him, then thought _Ostendere me omnia_. The arena lit before his eyes again; the pink platforms and tower, and the bodies of the Champions and their team members were bright with different colours of magic, though Harry had no idea who was who; glimmering ribbons of a brownish green and bronze lay prone, as did a deep, swirling navy blue and a misty lilac and gold. Gold flecked with glittering black was flinging spells in the general direction of silky silver, who was flinging spells back. Both were missing by a long way, clearly unable to see. A soft green and pink was edging carefully around the still forms of people, patting them down, looking for something - or someone.

Ron's spiky gold and green shifted beside Harry.

"This way," Harry murmured, and stood, leading Ron to the edge of the platform. He released Ron to leap to the next one - a staircase, spiralling upward - then reached back. "Put your hand out," he said, and Ron did. Their hands could just meet in the middle. "Jump," he said, and half-pulled Ron across the gap; if jumping onto something he couldn't see was hard, Ron having to jump when he couldn't see at all had to be harder.

He led him up the spiral stairs and they jumped back across to a tower platform. There were invisible rungs up to the next level - some twenty feet above, Harry guessed - and when they reached it, Ron made a quiet, relieved sound.

"Fog's gone," he puffed, and Harry nodded, letting his vision fade. He swayed a little, as the world went dull, and blinked a few times. "Now-"

"No sudden moofs," said a sharp voice.


	32. Fight Or Flight

Harry glanced up to see Hermione and Ginny staring down their wands at Popa and Krum, respectively (who had them at wandpoint too), while Morozov looked disdainfully down at him and Ron; they'd both raised their wands at the sound of her voice. Harry's was pointed right back at her, Ron's - perhaps unsurprisingly - was on Krum. He had a whole egg tucked under his arm.

"You should keep better vatch ofer your team," Krum said, scowling at Harry, as he flicked his wand between Hermione and Ginny, as if this somehow helped make his point. Harry wasn't quite sure what his point was; both Hermione and Ginny were standing, unhurt, and had their wands raised and ready.

"Er, sure," Harry said, after a moment. Morozov still hadn't hexed him, so, very slowly, he stood. She kept her wand pointed at his chest, but otherwise made no move to stop him. Ron did the same. The seven of them glanced around, and then Krum extended a hand toward Harry.

"Giff me an egg piece," he said.

"Why?" Ron demanded. "You've got yours, and you can't add to it."

"Consider it price for your passink," Popa rumbled. "Is vay to get past vithout spells."

"Vith spells vill not go vell for you," Morozov said, with a sharp grin.

"How about you let us pass and we let you pass," Ginny said, with a smile just as sharp.

"No." Krum made a hand-it-over sort of gesture at Harry.

"I think Ginny's idea seems fair," Ron said. "Maybe even a better deal for you three, what with you being outnumbered and-"

"Let Potter speak for himself," Morozov snapped.

"Don't need to," Harry said. "I haven't disagreed with anything they've said so far."

"You cannot go with all four," Krum said, sounding frustrated. "You von first task." Harry glanced at Ron, then at Hermione, then at Ginny, who all looked back unafraid.

"You're going to have to enforce that, then," Harry said, shrugging, and, without moving his wand or speaking, thought, _Expelliarmus_!

Morozov's wand soared out of her hand and into Harry's. She made a shocked, angry sound and launched at him, yelling, fists raised ready to punch, and Harry was so startled by that he didn't get his wand up in time. Thankfully, Ron did, and she was yanked up into the air by her ankle.

Popa knocked both Hermione and Ginny back with a blast of air; Ginny got a " _Pustula_!" off before she and Hermione thudded back into the tower wall, and he staggered backward, clutching his face. Krum dropped the egg - which banged open, shrieking - and yanked Popa back and down to his knees before he could step off the edge. Then Krum spun, wand flicking down to Ginny, who was gasping - winded - and rubbing the back of her head, and then to Hermione, who'd fared a little better and had her wand already trained on Krum.

He hesitated, perhaps trying to see if she was all right.

She didn't.

His wand flew into her hand and she kept both trained on him as she eased herself to her feet, expression apologetic. She stunned Popa while Ron bent to close the egg. Harry ducked under Morozov's flailing hands to go and help Ginny up.

"You should keep better watch over your team, maybe," Ron said to Krum, grin so wide it was threatening to split his face. Hermione whirled around to glare at him, and Ron cleared his throat, sobering.

"Leave that," Harry said, and Ron and Krum looked at him with identical, shocked expressions. "We'll have ours soon." Ron shrugged and set the egg down. Hermione bent and placed Krum's wand beside it.

"I'm sorry," Harry heard her say, biting her lip. Krum's frown moved from Harry to Hermione.

"Are you?" Krum asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Maybe it'd be more accurate to say I'm sorry I had to," Hermione amended. Krum smiled slightly at that, and Ginny caught Harry's eye and mimed gagging. He grinned, and Morozov - still dangling upside down - made a coughing sound that might have been a laugh. Ron was watching Hermione and Krum, an unreadable expression on his face, scent complicated. "We should go," Hermione said, turning to Harry.

"We were waiting for you," Ron said. "Didn't want to ruin your little moment." His tone wasn't nasty, or even rude, but there was more to it than just teasing.

Hermione's cheeks pinkened but she didn't say anything back, just strode with purpose to the edge of the platform and hopped across to the next one; clearly she and Ginny had found it before he and Ron got there.

"Almost there," Ginny said with forced cheer, jumping after her. That platform was a long, curved ramp that brought them up to the next ring of the tower; they edged carefully along it, then jumped back across. Through the barely-there floor, Harry could see Krum had collected his egg and his teammates and vanished, probably to hole up somewhere and defend their egg until time ran out. And, when he looked up, Harry could see the top of the tower, only twenty or so feet higher. They really were almost there.

"Here!" Ginny called, and then a spell caught Harry in the shoulder, and numbness raced down his arm and into his fingertips. He was holding his wand - he could _see_ that he was still holding his wand - but he couldn't feel it, and couldn't lift his arm.

"Go!" Ron shouted, and Hermione and Ginny took off, Hermione flinging a shield charm up at their backs to cover their escape. Rather than flinging spells, Ron had gone oddly quiet.

Harry twisted - awkwardly, because of his dead arm - and saw Fleur, Garcon and Colbert stepping off a levitating platform and onto theirs.

Fleur looked absolutely stunning. He'd known, objectively, that she was pretty- beautiful, even - but he'd never really appreciated it before, somehow. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, her hair like white gold, and her uniform was _very_ flattering… Her scent was floral and sweet as treacle tart, and- and- _devious_ , in a way that Harry had only ever smelled on Fred and George before, when they were waiting for a prank to trigger.

"Blimey," Ron said from beside Harry, sounding dazed. His wand soared out of his hand, landing at Garcon's feet, and he barely seemed to notice. Harry shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to get his arm to move, but Fleur's scent hardened, focused, eyes just on him now, and he found he couldn't quite look away from her. Ron shifted beside him.

"Well," Bagman said, sounding oddly echoey, "our youngest Champion's impressive, that's for certain, but apparently he's still human…" He chortled.

"Allez, j'ai ça sous contrôle," Fleur said, the words like music, despite the obvious effort it took her to say them. Garcon and Colbert smirked, stepped into the tower and disappeared.

"She's-" Harry tried, but his mouth felt dry. She was distracting them, he knew it, he could smell it, and the others were headed up to Hermione and Ginny, and- Fleur's scent was growing strained and sweat trickled like a liquid diamond down her temple, and she was incredible-

Ron moved suddenly and Harry saw rather than felt him snatch his wand away. Fleur went stumbling back as Ron hit her with a Knockback jinx, and then summoned his own wand back and conjured a wall of fire between her and them and the bit of the tower the other two had disappeared into. He tossed Harry his wand, and Harry cast a quick _Finite_ on his numb arm and breathed a sigh of relief as feeling returned with painful tingles.

Ron's wall of fire shuddered and opened in the middle to let Fleur step through it, wand twisting this way and that; she flung a fireball at them, which Harry swept away with a non-verbal _Ventus_ and the wall leaned back toward them, impossibly hot.

Ron made a frustrated noise and the wall started to close on her again, at least until she flicked her wand and the wall unravelled, into a whip of fire that coiled around her and then lashed out. Harry flung up a shield of water, remembering the veela at the World Cup and wondered if Fleur didn't have a bit of their affinity for fire.

Ron twisted his own wand and the fire turned and went for Fleur instead. Harry tried a Disarmer and then a Stunner, but the strands of fire around Fleur kept writhing to take the spells for her.

"Got this," Ron said through gritted teeth; he had a slightly messier set up than Fleur did, but it seemed to be working for him. "Go!"

For a moment, with the fire and the red hair and the same words, Harry was back at the World Cup with Charlie. And, just like then, going was the right thing to do; then, it had been to hopefully lure the Death Eaters away and even Charlie's odds. Here, it was to make sure Hermione could get the egg together. He tapped Ron's back with a quick fire-freezing charm, and hurried through the opening after the girls. He slipped a little - invisible stairs - and made his way up as quickly and quietly as he could; the stairs came out in the very centre of the highest platform.

He couldn't see Ginny, but Hermione was crouched perilously close to where he guessed the tower's edge must be, one arm hugging what was probably a pillar, the other taking careful aim at something Harry couldn't see.

A spell hit the pillar she was holding and it shimmered. Hermione flinched back but recovered quickly, leaning around it to fire a spell off at either Garcon or Colbert.

There was a _BOOM_ that shook the tower and then Ginny came running around the other side, throwing herself into the alcove beside Harry to avoid a pair of spells.

"Nice of you to show up," she gasped, holding her side. She had a scrape on her cheek that she hadn't before. Then, more sharply, she asked, "Where's Ron?"

Harry tilted his head down to where orange flashes and the crackling of fire could be heard.

Hermione flung another spell - the tower shuddered again - and used that as a distraction to dart over to join Harry and Ginny, shaking, and breathing hard.

"It's a long way down," she gasped. Harry heard cautious footsteps and nudged both girls in warning.

"Get the egg together," he breathed to Hermione.

"I need all four pieces."

"Ginny'll catch up," he promised, and Ginny nodded.

Colbert was the first to appear, holding a shield charm in front of her, and Ginny sprang into action flicking a low tripping jinx under the bottom edge of it. Colbert stumbled and Ginny disarmed and bound her. Garcon gave up on her cautious approach as soon as Ginny moved and dove forward to help… or tried to; Harry got her with a stickfast hex and she tipped forward, shoes stuck.

" _Accio!"_ she cried as she fell, and Harry's glasses flew off his face.

" _Aspectum_ ," he said, tapping himself between the eyes, and everything cleared.

" _Examen!_ " Garcon said loudly, and bees burst from her wand, heading straight for Harry.

" _Procellus!_ " A hurricane swept them up and away. " _Protego! Stupefy!_ "

Garcon had used his distraction to free herself from his stickfast hex and dove behind a pillar to get out of the way of Harry's Stunner.

" _Accio_ ," she said again, and this time it was Colbert - or rather, the rope holding Colbert - that zoomed toward her.

 _Accio glasses,_ Harry thought, then, " _Occulus reparo_." He cancelled his eyesight spell so he could put them back on. Hermione and Ginny had made it onto an elevated platform and were loading the four egg pieces onto a thick wooden workbench.

"Ginny!" Harry shouted. "Get a dome up! I'm going back for Ron!" She didn't acknowledge him, but a moment later an orange shield dome sprang up around her and Hermione. Harry ran back toward the stairs, deflecting a spell from Colbert as he went.

Fire was still flashing on the platform below. Harry took a deep breath and conjured a ball of water about the size of an armchair and sent it floating down to where Ron and Fleur were. He shot a quick _Bombarda_ at it and it exploded; Ron yelped, Fleur shrieked, and then Ron barrelled into the stairway. Harry cast a shield charm behind him and a spell of Fleur's bounced into one of the tower's invisible walls, harmless.

"All right?" Harry asked. Ron nodded, breathing heavily. He smelled a bit like a fireplace, but he seemed unharmed and flicked his wand to dry himself.

"Good timing," he said. "Any longer and she'd have had- _Protego!"_ Colbert's spell bounced into a pillar, which shuddered.

Harry conjured a larger shield, holding it in place between him, and Colbert and Garcon, as he and Ron headed around to Hermione and Ginny.

There was an awful screech which shut off with a metallic snap and Hermione made a satisfied sound. Ginny dropped the dome and their pair of them came to join them, Hermione with a golden egg just like Krum's tucked under her arm and a pleased smile on her face.

They were both forced to duck as a dripping Fleur - flanked by Garcon and Colbert - came striding around the corner with a rather terrifying look on her face, flinging spell after spell.

"Get the egg out of here," Harry said, focusing on keeping his shield charm up.

"How?" Ginny hissed.

Garcon turned suddenly, casting at something behind her, and Cedric, Stebbins, and Fisher appeared a moment later. Several of their spells - intended for the Beauxbatons team, who dodged - and several from the Beauxbatons team that were aimed at Harry and his friends thudded into Harry's shield, jarring his arm. He gritted his teeth.

" _Foraminium_!" Hermione said, and there was a scraping sound at their feet. It wasn't until she said, " _Culcitum!_ ", drew in a shaky breath, and dropped through the floor that he realised what she'd done. He saw her bounce once - thankfully, back toward the tower rather than toward the edge - and then scramble up, hugging the egg to her chest.

Another spell crashed into Harry's shield, which wavered, and a second passed completely through it, missing him and Ginny, but catching Ron in the chest.

His eyes widened in shock, wand dropping from suddenly limp fingers, and he stumbled back, first foot hitting the platform, second foot landing on empty air - Harry hadn't realised the edge was that close. Ginny dove forward, reaching, Harry a second behind her-

" _No!"_

Harry was conscious of three things; one, that Ron was falling, two that he'd never heard Hermione make such an awful sound, and three, that that was Ron's wand by Ginny's skidding foot...

Ginny latched onto one of the pillars to steady herself lest she go over too, but Harry launched right past her and into open air.

It went against everything in him to go head first, especially without a broom, but he did it, wand tight in one hand, his other hand extended.

Bagman was probably beside himself but Harry couldn't hear anything other than the wind in his ears.

" _Vent-"_ But the rushing air was making it impossible to get the word out and he didn't want to mispronounce it and hit Ron with a different spell. _Ventus_ , Harry tried again, non-verbally. A gust of upward air caught Ron, the strength of it enough to stop him for just a moment, and it was enough; Harry slammed into him a bit harder than he'd hoped, winced, and hooked an arm around him.

The glimmer of a disillusioned platform right in their path made Harry's heart stop, because they were falling too quickly and it was going to _hurt_ but a moment later the platform had been blown apart and simply wasn't there.

 _Densissima_ , Harry thought. They slowed a little as the air thickened around them, buying Harry enough time to point his wand at the ground and think _Mollis Impulsum_.

It was not as graceful a landing as the rolling one Harry had done in the first task; he hit the cushioned ground side on. The sudden stop jarred his neck and he bit his tongue and copped one of Ron's sharp elbows to the cheek - _crack!_ went his glasses - but his wand was in one piece. He rolled onto his back and lay there for just a moment, heart racing, then pushed himself into a sitting position to check on Ron.

His arm was at an unnatural- wait, no, that was the crack in his glasses, distorting the way he looked. He calmed, then began to stress again; Ron wasn't breathing, Harry realised, horrified- except- except his eyes were open and wide and he lifted a shaky hand to gesture at his chest.

" _Finite_ ," Harry said, and Ron sucked in a breath, eyes still wide.

"Probably," he gasped, "a go-od thing I couldn't- breathe. Would've screamed- whole way down." He took another deep breath in. "And you- bloody lunatic." Harry laughed, relieved, and helped him up.

The arena exploded with noise and Harry jerked his wand up, pushing Ron behind him, but it was just the crowd.

"What a stunt!" Bagman roared. "What absolute madness! He might be the youngest Champion but he's got more nerve than the rest combined!"

"I'm fine, thanks," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. "Nice to know you were all worried."

"Your mum'll be worried enough for all of them," Harry said, and Ron winced, then shook his head, mouth twitching.

"She won't have time to worry. She's probably too busy trying to stop Sirius from jumping in here and strangling you. At least _I_ fell accidentally." He looked up; Ginny had joined Hermione one level below the top, and they were hanging about as far off as they dared, faces white.

" _Accio Ron's wand_ ," Harry said and it dropped out of Ginny's hand toward them.

"Cheers," Ron said taking his wand from Harry. " _Occulus reparo._ " Harry's warped vision righted itself as his lenses did. "Do we head back up, or… Ah, nevermind." Harry followed his gaze and saw Hermione and Ginny stepping out onto a platform; Hermione flicked her wand and they began to descend - rather like a lift - slowly but steadily down. Ginny blasted another platform out of their path and Harry suddenly knew what had happened to the one he'd been about to hit when he jumped after Ron.

"So, Durmstrang with their egg, Walpurgis looking like they'll get away with theirs, and thanks to some clever spellwork by Stebbins, three pieces each for Hogwarts and Beauxbatons." Jets of coloured light were flying out of the tower's top in all directions and Harry was rather glad they'd put their egg together when they had. "And not long left now, ladies and gentlemen…"

Hermione and Ginny touched down and ran to join them. Once they were close enough, Harry flicked his wand to conjure a shield dome that covered all four of them.

"Catch," Ginny said with a grin, tossing the egg like a Quaffle.

"Thanks," he said. "Nice _Reductos_." Her grin widened and she tucked herself against Ron's side. Hermione, who'd just released Ron, threw her arms around Harry (or as best she could, given the awkward size and position of the egg he was holding). "We're fine," he said as she looked him over with a critical eye.

"Physically," she said, with a shaky little laugh. "I'm beginning to think you're a bit mad." Harry laughed.

"Nah - we'd practiced for this." She arched an eyebrow. "Well, we'd practiced falling from a height," he amended.

"You practiced falling from thirty feet," she said. "If that." Harry glanced at her, then at the tower - which was significantly higher than thirty feet - then grinned again, sheepish.

"Hogwarts have their egg, made with three of the four pieces!" Bagman said, and three figures escaped the top of the tower using a conjured slide; Cedric, Stebbins, and Fisher, surely. They alighted on what had been one of the starting platforms amidst spellfire from above, just as Bagman said, "Team Beauxbatons, you're running out of time!"

Harry found himself worrying, hoping Fleur would get her egg together in time. She'd be at a fairly serious disadvantage for the next task if she didn't… perhaps Harry'd be able to get her some information through Moony-

There was a loud shriek from the tower that cut off just as a louder bell rang throughout the arena.

"In the very last moments the ladies have done it!" Bagman said. "Because that's it, time's up!"

Screams and whistles and clapping like thunder echoed down from the stands and Harry felt almost boneless with relief. Hermione beamed at him, and Ron reached over to clap him on the shoulder, looking pleased but overwhelmed by the crowd's attention. Ginny bowled Hermione into Harry with a hug; Hermione hadn't been paying attention - she was looking for Krum, he suspected - and Harry steadied them both with the hand that wasn't holding the egg.

"Teams to the base of the tower for your scores - and no attacking each other on the way." Bagman laughed like this was a particularly funny thing to say and Harry tried not to roll his eyes as he lowered his shield dome.


	33. After The Task

"Ruddy brilliant, you lot were!" Hagrid said, squeezing his bulk in behind the table; they'd somehow managed to fit the entire Weasley family, Padfoot, Harry, Moony, Dora, Stella, Marlene, Draco, Hermione, Luna, and Colin into Hagrid's hut, and things were very cramped indeed.

"Seconded," Bill said. "Great work with the rune challenge, Hermione." Hermione looked up at the sound of her name, pink-cheeked, not, Harry didn't think, from Bill's compliment, but rather because she had been since shortly after the task finished; she'd disappeared for a bit and only caught up with them on their way to Hagrid's, scent both pleased and flustered. While she hadn't explained her absence, Harry had overheard Krum's name in Hermione and Dora's conversation, so he thought that probably explained it. "...Ron, and Gin, in the tower-" Ginny looked up from the floor, grinning, then went back to stroking Fang's soft ears. "-and Harry that jump..." Bill shook his head, grinning.

" _Don't_ encourage him, Bill," Mrs Weasley and Padfoot said in unison.

"Yeah, Bill," Fred said, and then turned to Harry. "Obviously you should have just let Ron fall, Harry - I think that's what Mum's trying to say, right?"

"Fred!" Mrs Weasley said, as sharply as she dared while she was holding Stella. Ron - who was in the corner with Charlie, Percy, and Mr Weasley, talking eagerly about fire magic - made a rude gesture at Fred that Mrs Weasley missed and that Mr Weasley pretended not to see. "That is _not-_ "

Harry grinned at Padfoot and Draco. The latter was holding the egg, looking over the intricate designs on it with Moony and Bill, and didn't even notice. The former had his arm around Harry's shoulders and was complaining to Marlene and George about all the grey hairs he was going to have from watching the task. He must have felt Harry's eyes on him, though, because he tweaked Harry's ear then twisted as best he could in the tight space to return the grin.

"All good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, honestly; he'd be exhausted in another hour or so, when all the stress and adrenaline and long hours of training properly caught up to him, but for now he was relaxed. Content. Here, safe and surrounded by good company, it was hard not to be; they'd all made it out unscathed, they had the egg, and Harry didn't have to worry about the next task until February.

Padfoot's grin eased into something softer, and his arm tightened around Harry's shoulders for just a moment.

"Good," he said. "You did well today, all of you." His gaze flicked to Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, in turn. "Never doubted it, but-"

"There we-" Draco said, and there was a metallic click and then the egg's horrid shrieking started. Draco dropped it, expression shocked.

Harry clapped his hands to his ears, wincing. It was so loud it physically hurt, and Moony and Padfoot were clearly having the same issue; where everyone else simply started and scrunched up their faces and waved at Draco to close it, they also plugged their ears, expressions pained.

"Sorry!" Draco said, snapping the egg shut. "Sorry!" Stella was wailing on Mrs Weasley's lap, and whimpers were coming from beneath Hagrid's bed, where Fang had hidden.

"Blimey," Charlie said.

"Maybe the next task's a banshee, Harry," George said, and Colin's eyes lit up with excitement. Harry glanced at Padfoot, sure he was also thinking of Keira from Knockturn Alley, and whether she might be able to-

"That's no banshee," Moony said, rubbing his ears.

"Then what is it?" Harry and Padfoot asked in unison.

"S'Mermish," Hagrid said, with a thoughtful look at Moony. "Must be. Don't have the head for speakin' it, myself, but I've heard it a time or two, an' I'm sure that's what it is..." He gave Moony another look, this one hesitant, as if doubting himself.

"I'm afraid confirming that might be considered cheating by the Tournament organisers, Hagrid-"

"Fantastic," Harry said, while Padfoot rolled his eyes and pulled a face at Moony. "Reckon if we're obvious about it, they'll disqualify me?"

"With our luck, they'd punish Remus before you," Padfoot sighed.

"- _but_ ," Moony continued, as if they hadn't spoken, "I for one have always found merpeople to be fascinating beings and would certainly encourage anyone with even the slightest interest in them to do a bit of research. For purely academic purposes, of course." He winked at Harry. "You never know when it might come in handy."

"I reckon I know," Ron said. "February twenty-fourth."

Almost everyone grinned or made some sort of amused noise (or both), except for Stella who was too young to understand, and Moony, who kept an admirably straight face and said blithely, "Anything's possible, I suppose."

Hermione shifted and Harry could almost hear her mentally constructing a list of merpeople-related topics to research.

He was pleased by that, pleased and thoughtful, and he was also no longer in Hagrid's hut.

Harry was outside, sitting in a seat in the massive stands, beside Wormtail. Far below, the boy and his friends stood with the other competitors and the Tournament judges, receiving their scores.

The boy was still in first place; he'd out performed both Beauxbatons and Hogwarts by retrieving all four pieces of his egg, and he'd made up for being slightly slower than Durmstrang with sheer nerve and finishing the task with a remarkably unscathed team.

Bagman was calling for a last round of applause for the Champions, and much of it seemed directed at the boy; beside Harry, the Minister was calling his name and applauding. The boy had a way of winning affection, and any of the confusion and resentment surrounding him after he was drawn from the Goblet had since turned to support, excitement. Harry had not expected it, but he should have; the boy had always managed to thrive in less than ideal circumstances.

As if the boy could sense his attention his head turned up towards the stands, to where Harry and Wormtail were sitting. It was pure coincidence; to him they would have been empty seats. The boy's head kept turning, past them, to where his loudest supporters were, yet Harry could still feel him watching-

Understanding came and Harry stilled. Wormtail glanced in his direction, perhaps tipped off by a change in his scent, but Harry held up a hand before he could do or say anything, then ejected the boy from his head with a firm push of Occlumency.

Suddenly dizzy and disoriented, Harry sagged against Padfoot.

"Me too," Padfoot said with a chuckle, giving him a squeeze. "Reckon we should head back up, grab an early lunch?" His suggestion was met with approving sounds by the majority of the Weasleys, but Ron and Ginny were both watching Harry, and so were Hermione and Draco. Then, Padfoot must have caught his scent, or noticed his friends' stillness, because he drew back a little, careful, and said, "Harry?"

"He's at the task," Harry said in a low voice. Only Padfoot and Draco were near enough to be able to hear him over the rest of the noise in the hut; Hermione gave Harry a look that simultaneously approved of him talking to Padfoot about what had just happened, and made it clear that she expected to be filled in later, before allowing herself to be drawn back into conversation with Dora and Luna. Ginny's look was more assessing, but she too turned away after a moment. Ron was watching intently, perhaps trying to piece together the gist through their body language. "Just now, I saw- he was with Wormtail, and they were in the stands, watching us. Me."

"Here, at Hogwarts?" Padfoot looked disturbed, disbelieving, and a little angry, all at once. Harry nodded. "Disguised, or-"

"No," Harry said. "Just- normal. I- _he_ was right beside Fudge. And they weren't far from where you all were, either-"

"Are they still here?" Padfoot stood, pulling his Sidekick out of his robes. Marlene didn't pause from her conversation with Charlie and George, but Harry knew she was watching Padfoot. Moony glanced at Padfoot, then at Harry, concerned.

"I don't- he must be, because I just saw him-"

"But the task's finished," Draco said. "You're here, not in the arena."

"I- yeah," Harry said, frowning. "So it must be delayed, or something." But why? _How?_ Harry usually saw things _as_ they were happening. Was Voldemort experimenting again, testing their connection? The thought made Harry feel physically ill; Voldemort already knew he could pull Harry into his head to feed him false information - like the plans to kidnap him during the first task - but this… memories… If he could show Harry memories, then he could show Harry altered memories, could maybe even show him fabricated memories… Panic crawled over Harry, prickling his skin and twisting his insides; if he could do that, Voldemort could show him _anything_ , show him things to manipulate him, to make him doubt anything and everything, show him things to scare him, to drive him mad-

"Hey," Padfoot said, taking him by the shoulders, "kiddo, breathe."

Harry focused on Padfoot's concerned face and did just that until he was able to give a little nod to say that he was okay.

He glanced around the hut, a little embarrassed, but no one was paying him any attention; Ron appeared to have dropped one of Hagrid's enormous teacups - which Harry hadn't heard or otherwise noticed until then - and was being heckled by all five of his brothers and Ginny (with Hermione, Luna, and Colin watching on), while Mrs Weasley had been distracted by Dora and Stella; Dora was bouncing Stella and making loud hushing noises throughout an explanation that the sudden noise must have startled her. Harry could see Stella's little face over Dora's shoulder, though, and she looked perfectly cheerful, if a bit put out about being trapped against Dora's chest; with Dora as a mother, Stella was no stranger to the sounds of things being dropped (or tripped over, or knocked over, or otherwise broken). Harry felt a surge of affection for them both.

Padfoot was still watching him, worried, but clearly reluctant to push too hard.

"I'll- we'll talk on the way back to the castle," Harry said quietly, and Padfoot gave his shoulder a squeeze, eyes flicking to Moony, who was obviously listening in; his head was leaning slightly in their direction, even though he appeared to be in conversation with Marlene, Hagrid, and Mr Weasley.

"Are you hungry now?" Padfoot asked, at normal volume, and a few people looked over. Ron was amongst them, eyes on Harry and serious despite having been bickering good-naturedly with his siblings just a moment ago.

"I can wait," Harry said. Padfoot nodded slowly and Ron arched an eyebrow. Harry smiled, small and tired. "I- I was sort of enjoying not being stressed, and just being here with everyone. It'd be nice to go back to that, for a bit."

"Well," Dora said, "if we're not moving yet, I'm going to need the loo." She stood. "Do you mind, godbrother?" And then she was passing Stella over with a wink and making her careful way through the cluttered space (dodging Fang's wagging tail, and the foot Charlie stuck out to trip her) to Hagrid's bathroom.

Stella gurgled nonsensically and reached for Harry's glasses. He caught her hand and she immediately latched onto his thumb with her other hand. They had something of a staring contest and then she blew a raspberry and chuckled, tiny hands flailing. Harry grinned at her.

"Ooh, that sounds lovely. Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry settled her on his lap, and glanced over her fuzzy head at Luna.

"Colin's offered to take photographs before the Ball," she said.

"Great," Harry said, and mostly meant it.

"Don't look like that," Ginny said, stretching out her foot to give his ankle a gentle kick. "It'll be fun."

"Not for you," George said. Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. "Little sisters aren't allowed to have fun at Balls."

"Longbottom's been warned," Fred added.

"And will be warned again, I hope," Charlie said, grinning.

"Probably another three times between now and then," Fred agreed.

"Neville and I are _friends_ ," Ginny said.

"Heard that one before," said Percy, of all people, and Harry laughed, surprised. George guffawed.

"All right," Ginny said. "And when N-Neville w-won't-" She adopted a dramatically upset voice. "-dance with me, because I must be u-ugly, and this was meant to be a n-nice night and now it's r-ruined, I can come and find you two-" She gave the twins a sharp smile, voice back to normal. "-and you'll dance with me and cheer me up, right?"

Fred and George exchanged a look.

"Of course they will," Bill said, amused. "Because big brothers always look after their little sisters."

"Always," Fred said, and George nodded.

"But I don't think it'll be necessary at the Ball."

"We'll revise Longbottom's instructions."

"Tell him you can have a pleasant night."

"But still no fun." Fred waggled a finger, teasing. Ginny poked her tongue out at him.

"And if you really do have an awful time, come and find us..."

"And by us he means Ron," Fred said, "because he's going alone so you won't be interrupting anything."

Ron made a rude gesture in the twins' direction.

"There's nothing wrong with going alone," Charlie said, with a warning look at the twins.

"He won't be going alone," Harry said, "he'll be with us." Ron shot him a look that was both embarrassed and grateful.

"You're a Champion now, or as good as," Ginny offered. "You'd be able to get a date if you wanted."

"She's right. You could probably go with anyone you liked," Bill said. Harry saw Ginny wince at that, and noticed Hermione was looking very uncomfortable. Dora, who'd returned from the bathroom, struck up a hasty conversation with her. Ron's expression flickered from grumpy to pained and then settled on awkward.

"You should ask Delacour, Ron," George said, sniggering.

"He might have to fight Bill for her," Charlie said.

" _You've_ got a thing for Delacour?" Fred said, gaping at Bill, who shrugged. "But you never go for the pretty ones!" He nudged Percy. "Remember that Unspeakable trainee he brought home a few Christmases back?" Percy was too polite to say anything rude, but his face did go very carefully blank, which told Harry all he needed to know.

"She was nice," Ginny said.

"She was," Bill said. "And she was one of the best arithmancers I've ever met. And one day, you lot might realise those sorts of things are much more important than how someone looks." Fred swooned onto Percy, and Bill laughed and shook his head.

"Delacour has more going for her than just looks, though," George said.

"Delacour's a student," Bill said.

"She's of age," Charlie said. "And student or not, I haven't seen you look at a witch like that since what's-her-name. Ellis. That Slytherin."

"Tessa," Bill said. Harry was rather impressed with how cool and collected he was about the whole thing, how unembarrassed.

"She's a Hit Witch, now," Dora said, leaning around Hermione to have her say. "I bumped into her a few years ago."

"Doesn't surprise me," Bill said. "She was an excellent duellist-"

"I know, because you didn't shut up about her for my entire sixth year," Charlie said. "And I'm telling you, I was getting flashbacks up there in the stands today."

"She was impressive," Bill said, unapologetic, and either unbothered by the scrutiny or doing a very, very good job at pretending that was the case.

"She was," Moony said, "and it would be fantastic if you could either finish this conversation or have it somewhere I can't hear you, because she's my student." He grimaced.

"Yes," Padfoot said. "Having an interest in younger witches… terrible business, that." Moony gave him an exasperated look; Dora blew Moony a kiss and Stella chuckled - entirely coincidentally, Harry was sure, but he had to admire her timing. "Shall we head up for lunch?"

* * *

"I've humoured you thus far," Severus said, glancing at memory-Draco, who was seated between memory-Weasley-One and Black. He glanced back to Draco, eyebrow arched. "But I'm going to need an explanation if you expect me to be of any use at all on this little-" His gaze flicked down to the arena, where Diggory and Krum's teams were duelling it out. "-expedition."

"I have every intention of explaining," Draco said. "I just didn't want to do it in your office, because it's about Potter being pulled into the Dark Lord's mind again, and Karkaroff-"

"Has an unfortunate tendency to come visiting," Severus finished, pursing his lips.

"He said they were watching the task- or, the task's results, rather," Draco said, and knew Severus would understand that they were back to talking about Potter. "Only we were sitting in Hagrid's hut at the time."

"So the timing's wrong." Severus made a thoughtful sound and Draco stepped through memory-Black - grimacing in rather redundant apology - to get into the walkway above him.

"I think he was in a memory - the Dark Lord, that is." Draco bit his lip. "Maybe. Potter said they were near us…" He bounced up onto his toes, scanning through the pointed hats and colourful flags and waving hands for what he was sure he'd seen earlier…

"So you're looking for… the memory's owner?"

"No, I'm looking for-" The crowd gave a particularly loud cheer and Draco's eyes found what he'd been after. He squeezed past Severus and down into the next aisle, cautious. With more patience than Draco had any right to expect, Severus drifted after him and paused when they reached what Draco had seen only fleetingly that morning and yet had driven him to return through the pensieve; two empty seats in an arena packed tight with spectators, both bearing a small, neat sign with the word _Reserved_ on it.

The seats were in the front row of public seating, and looked directly over the wall that separated the rest of the stands from the seating box that held the judges, Bagman, a cluster of photographers and reporters - including Skeeter - a handful of Aurors, and several harried-looking people wearing badges that read _Tournament organiser_. Behind the seats were what could only be Delacour's family - a stunning blonde woman, a girl that looked like Draco imagined Delacour would if she took a De-Aging potion, and a plump man with a neat black beard that bore little resemblance to either of them but wore Beauxbatons colours. One seat was beside the aisle, but on the other side of the other sat Minister Fudge. On Fudge's other side was Draco's own father, then an Auror he knew by sight but not name, and then a squat, toadish woman in pink.

"So how does it work?" he asked Severus, who was scanning the crowd immediately around them with narrowed eyes. He paused from his looking to bestow Draco with a scowl.

"We have covered pensieves _extensively_ over the years," he said. "And you've done significant study of them in your own time of late-"

"Not pensieves," Draco said, scowling back. "Memories. I know how to take them and store them and find them and watch them, but only for the obvious things-"

"I should hope I've taught you more than watching for the obvious," Severus drawled.

"Everyone else's subtle _is_ my obvious," Draco retorted. "But I don't know what I'm looking for here."

"But you _are_ looking for something?"

"Obviously," Draco said tersely.

"Good." Severus turned and strode back up the stairs to the walkway, then set off along it. Draco trailed after him, slowing when their surroundings took on a hazy quality, and stopping entirely when the shapes and faces of the people in the stands around them blurred.

"Sir?"

"Draco."

"I- they're…" But they weren't _all_ blurred; some people - like Hydrus and the Slytherins he was with - and some things - like a _Support Harry Potter_ badge on a purple tartan hat, and a banner bearing Krum's name in a heart - were perfectly clear.

"A lot of what we see is unconscious," Severus said. "That's why your surroundings are often more detailed than you might expect - even if you could not recall them in that level of detail without a pensieve. The better your eye for detail, the further the clarity of your surroundings will extend, but eventually you will be so far from the memory's original viewpoint that the memory will become indistinct. With a few exceptions."

"These are the things I paid attention to," Draco said, looking at Hydrus, the hat and the badge, and the banner again. "That's why they're clear." Severus gave a curt nod.

"What else do you see?"

Draco looked around, then down at the arena, where Potter and She-Weasley were in the base of the invisible tower, while Granger and Weasley watched on from above. It was… off. The arena's happenings had a strange, slightly hazy quality to them, and occasionally one of the competitors below would flicker.

"That's not right."

"Why?" Draco thought about it.

"We're almost opposite where I watched from," he said finally, scanning the stands for himself. He found the Weasleys' bright hair first, then Auror Lupin's, then his own. "The perspective's different." He frowned. "Is it real at all? I didn't see it from this angle, so what we're seeing isn't actually memory, is-"

"What is memory?"

"It's what we remember."

"Partially," Severus said. "It's also partially what we know." Draco tried not to look lost but Severus could clearly tell he didn't understand. He gestured for Draco to follow him until they were standing on the stairs beside Hydrus and the other Slytherins. "He's breathing, is he not?" Draco glanced at his brother, at the rise and fall of his chest, the slight movement of his shoulders. He glanced back to Severus. "And yet, you cannot have remembered it, not from where you were."

"...No," Draco agreed, frowning.

"We make assumptions," Severus said, "based off what we know." He held up a hand and said, "Listen."

Draco did, and found that he couldn't hear their conversations or who was calling out what over the sounds of the rest of the crowd, even though they were standing right there.

"I was too far away to hear them, even unconsciously."

"Too far to lip read and make assumptions about what it might sound like, too." Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I also suspect, that were we to somehow capture what we can hear here and now, it would be identical to what you would hear were we back over there at this same point in time."

"Only I've filtered out Black and the Weasleys," Draco said; they certainly hadn't been quiet throughout the task. "Because there's no way I'd be able to hear them from over here."

Severus inclined his head and turned his attention back toward the competitors.

"You know where Potter was standing and facing in the task and how it looked to you, and you know that that will look different from a different angle."

"So why's it... off?"

"Because our minds are only so good at repositioning things." Severus said with a shrug. "We take in information consciously, we take in even more _unconsciously,_ and we are able to make small assumptions to add a degree of realism, but there are limits."

"Does the memory stop?" Draco asked, suddenly curious. "If we walked back up to the castle from here, would we run out of space?"

"Pensieve memories have no edges," Severus said. "Here, we could probably walk right back to your common room and you are familiar enough with the castle and grounds that there would be no danger in doing so. If we were in an unfamiliar location, however, or if this was not your memory and you had no idea what its owner's familiarity with this-" He gestured around them "-was, then I would strongly advise against wandering and strongly advise you stay right on the heels of whoever you are following."

"What would happen if you did wander?"

"Either your surroundings become pure assumption and you get trapped in an endless hallway, or maze of rooms, or an infinite forest, or your surroundings lose all clarity and you end up in a fog of shapeless colour and faded sound - imagine being underwater with no bubbles or light to guide you back to the surface. People have been lost in pensieves."

"Can't they just leave the memory?"

"They already have."

Draco didn't know if that was terrifying, or if it was giving him ideas.

"So if we kept walking around-" He gestured further on, to the other side of the arena.

"We'd be in no danger."

"But it's unfamiliar-"

"The arena is circular - it is inevitable that you will end up back where you started." He started back upstairs again, but stopped in the aisle. "We've ventured off topic. You were here to find something. Have you?"

Draco didn't answer right away. He walked back to where his memory-self sat, then climbed the stairs to the highest row of seats. The competitors below flickered ever so slightly, but grew clearer and more solid as he walked back down the stairs to join Severus.

"The angle's affected by height as well as positioning," he announced, leading the way back to the two empty seats. Severus said nothing. "If the Dark Lord sat here to watch the Tournament, then the person whose memory it was has to be nearby." Draco looked around again. He discounted the Delacours, but anyone else could be responsible; Fudge, Father, the Auror, the pink woman, the judges, Bagman, the various Tournament organisers, the Aurors on security detail, Skeeter… "Do you know any of them? That I don't, I mean."

"John Dawlish," Severus said, pointing. "Dolores Umbridge." Then, gesturing to the box he said, "Bertha Jorkins, Auror Prewett, Auror Wellington, Auror Brown, Auror Thicknesse, Albert Runcorn." That still left quite a few people in the box unnamed, but Draco supposed that was to be expected.

"No one of particular interest, then?" He assumed not, since Severus hadn't indicated that was the case, and Severus said nothing, confirming it. Draco looked around again. "Who put Potter's name in the Goblet of Fire?" Severus turned to him slowly, expression supremely unimpressed. "One of these people, or someone disguised as one of these people?"

"Crouch's location remains a mystery," Severus said thoughtfully.

"We know he's at the Ministry, though," Draco said. "We know Black almost had him, too."

"Almost being the operative word," Severus said, rather wryly.

"Black had a list," Draco said. "If we could cross-check who was on it with the people here…"

"I can get a list to Black, and to the Headmaster."

"And I can-"

"Do nothing," Severus said, bluntly, but not unkindly. "You've done well here, but only you and I shall ever know it, lest we be too revealing of your loyalties - to either side. Such is the nature of this life."

"Yes, sir," Draco agreed, knowing he would be telling Weasley _all_ about this when he could next get him alone. And, if he could find a way to bring it up, he was sure Granger would be fascinated - and horrified - to hear you could get lost in a pensieve.

Severus studied him for a moment, then flicked his eyes skyward. Draco nodded and then the memory melted down around them as they moved up, up, and out.


	34. The Order Of The Phoenix

There was no doubt Kreacher had mellowed and grown more tolerant in his years serving Harry and Padfoot, but apparently expecting him to accept Mundungus Fletcher was asking a bit much.

Kreacher had either remembered or been recently reminded that Mundungus was responsible for Greyback's murder, because he'd spent the entire evening so far trailing after Mundungus, muttering rather rude things, and ensuring that he was bodily between him and both Moony and Stella at all times. Mundungus, for his part, seemed unnerved by his ill-tempered shadow, but Harry didn't think that was an entirely bad thing; the man had been surveying the silver cutlery, crystal goblets, and - oddly enough - everything Harry touched, with a rather enterprising glint in his eye. That had not gone unnoticed by Kreacher who'd expanded his patrol to include Harry while everyone arrived, and, when the time came to sit, all but shoved Mundungus into a seat at the far end of the table, between an old man that looked uncannily like Dumbledore in certain lights, and Moody; Kreacher must have noticed Moody's magical eye had rarely left Mundungus and decided that was an appropriate place to leave him.

"Budge up," Bill said, squeezing in alongside Harry with Percy in tow. Mrs Weasley settled herself opposite them, beside Padfoot, and caught Harry's eye.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be at ours with the others?" she asked. Hermione - who was staying with Harry these holidays - had been sent to the Burrow for the evening, not by Mrs Weasley (though she'd been a willing accomplice) but by McGonagall.

As Hermione was not of age, and didn't have a parent there to vouch for her presence, she'd had little choice but to leave to wait with Ron and Ginny; Harry would fill them in afterward. They, in turn, would fill him in on whatever they found out about merfolk in the books they'd checked out of the library after the second task.

"I'd _rather_ be there," Harry said, "but I think I _need_ to be here."

"Give up, Molly," Padfoot said, sounding tiredly amused, rather than annoyed; Molly had been strongly supportive of Harry accompanying Hermione to the Burrow, saying the Tournament was enough for him to have to worry about this year, and Harry knew Padfoot agreed (though he hadn't argued when Harry said he was staying). She and Padfoot shared a commiserative look, and then she smiled rather sadly and leaned forward to offer Harry the plate of shortbread she'd brought along. Harry, recognising it as a peace offering, took one with a grateful smile.

"Brilliant," Charlie said, sounding altogether too much like Ron, as he wedged himself in between Percy and Robards and lunged for the biscuits.

Someone cleared their throat and Harry turned to see two women and a man hovering behind him. He couldn't help himself; he glanced at Padfoot.

"Emmeline Vance," Padfoot said, nodding at the taller, rather elegant looking witch.

"It's lovely to meet you," she said.

"And this is Bean-"

"Sturgis Podmore," Podmore said, rolling his eyes in a long-suffering sort of way. He was a blond man with neat facial hair, and he offered Harry his hand. Harry shook it. "We've actually met before, sort of… in the lead up to Sirius' trial."

"Oh," Harry said, looking him over again. He didn't think he remembered him, but he'd met a _lot_ of people back then, and he'd been much younger.

"He was one of the people looking into whether Petunia's transfer of custody would hold," Padfoot said cheerfully. Podmore grimaced, then brightened at the sight of Marlene, who nodded a greeting and settled on Padfoot's other side. Padfoot twitched, and Harry suspected Marlene might have kicked or pinched him as a reminder to behave.

"I'm Hestia," the third and youngest witch said. She was short, and dark haired with round cheeks. She held out her hand, and Harry shook it. "For sake of getting it out of the way now, I'm a big fan," she said. Her eyes flicked to Harry's scar, then back to his face. "You've been incredible in the Tournament so far, and then there's the whole defeating You-Know-Who as a baby thing… Brilliant!"

Harry had no idea what to say to that so he forced a smile. Jones beamed back. Thankfully, Bill came to his rescue then, offering up Mrs Weasley's biscuits. "Oh, fantastic," Jones said, snagging two. She waved them at Harry and moved further down, introducing herself and calling out further greetings to other people as she went.

Harry let out a gusty breath, feeling rather overwhelmed.

"Harry?"

Harry spun again and blinked. Mrs Figg smiled back at him. She had more lines on her face and he thought that was a different handbag than the one she'd had when he'd last seen her - though it still appeared to contain at least two tins of cat food. The cat hair all over her was the same as ever. "I'm not sure if you remember me..."

"Mrs Figg," he said, surprised, and she smiled.

"It's good to see you," she said. "And so tall now!" He was almost taller than she was and he was sitting down. She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, then dug about in her bag and pulled out a slightly crumpled bit of paper.

Harry glanced at it and smiled, recognising Dudley's handwriting.

"Thanks," he said, and she gave his hand another squeeze and shuffled off to sit with Elphias Doge, who Harry had met earlier.

Dumbledore straightened in his chair and Padfoot - likely for Harry's benefit - murmured, "Here we go…"

"Welcome," Dumbledore said, in the calm, loud voice he used to get students' attention at dinner at Hogwarts. It had the same effect here; everyone quietened and Dumbledore continued at a more normal volume. "Thank you all for coming, and thank you Sirius, Harry, and Kreacher, for your hospitality." Kreacher gave Dumbledore an approving look. "We welcome Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, Miss Hestia Jones, and Mr Harry Potter to their first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix." Harry was incredibly glad Dumbledore had lumped him in with the other two, but was sure the whispers that raced around the kitchen had more to do with him than with Shacklebolt or Hestia. "Auror Shacklebolt - as his title suggests - joins us from the Ministry under recommendation by Amelia, Nymphadora, and Alastor. Many of you will have seen Miss Jones around the wizarding world - Mundungus and I have both vouched for her suitability." Harry glanced down the table at Hestia, curious.

"I'd also like to thank Messrs Bill and Charlie Weasley for prolonging their respective visits to ensure they were able to be here today." He inclined his head in their direction. "If there are no other preliminary matters, I'll hand over to-"

"Sorry, Headmaster," Amelia Bones said, giving him a little wave, "But the boy? Sorry, Potter," she added, with a short nod in his direction, as if to apologise for talking about him rather than to him. "Obviously he is who he is, but he's underage-"

"He's here with his guardian's permission," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Because Black's so responsible…" Podmore muttered.

"That's Professor Black to you," Padfoot said, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, and if Skeeter's to be believed, Merlin help-"

"Surely you're too smart to be reading Skeeter's rubb-"

"Enough," Marlene said sharply and both men shut their mouths.

McGonagall spoke into the silence:

"If we're voicing our concerns," she said, giving Harry a look that was somehow apologetic without actually being sorry, "I feel I should mention that while I don't object to Mr Potter's presence in these meetings, I think the timing leaves something to be desired; he has quite enough on his plate without having to worry about what goes on here as well." Mrs Weasley gave a small nod.

"Quite right!" Elphias Doge said.

From across the table, Padfoot grimaced at Harry.

"Harry is also here with my permission," Dumbledore said. His voice was quiet, conversational, but no one objected.

"I'll preempt the next obvious objection, shall I?" Dora said. "Remus and I have given Stella our permission to attend, too." Stella blew bubbles and tried to grab at a button on Mr Weasley's robes, and a few people chuckled, breaking the tension. Dora caught Harry's eye and winked.

"Thank you, Mrs Lupin," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Severus."

Snape stood.

"Just as we are expanding our ranks," he said, "so too is the Dark Lord."

"I thought you'd fallen out of favour with your Lord," Moody said suspiciously.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said quietly but firmly. Snape, though, was undaunted, and met Moody's mismatched stare across the kitchen.

"As I've told you at our previous meetings, he believes the loss of my leg and my years at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's scrutiny may have swayed my allegiances-"

 _And he'd be right,_ Harry thought.

"-but I have other connections on that side that do not share his doubts. My information is valid, I assure you." Moody grunted and settled back into his seat. Several other people around the table shifted, and Harry surmised Snape wasn't especially well liked - or trusted - even here.

"Do you have names?" Bones asked.

"Some," Snape said. "Thorfinn Rowle and Lawrence Gibbon." Harry blinked, recognising the names; both Rowle and Gibbon had been a few years above him, though he'd never had much to do with either. Gryffindors; Gibbon had been a Prefect. At their names, Moony had sat up a little straighter, and McGonagall had made a soft, distressed sound. Percy was pale with shock. "They graduated a few years back," Snape said. "Former Gryffindors." Despite the serious nature of the conversation, Snape sounded just the tiniest bit smug about that, but only temporarily: "Phoebe Daunce, and Solomon Jugson - both former Slytherins."

Though it was clearly not news to Dumbledore, he had his eyes closed and looked very, very tired.

"Are they Marked?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Unlikely," Snape said. The Aurors in the room seemed to slump; if they didn't have a Dark Mark, their involvement with Voldemort would be that much harder to prove.

"What can you tell us about them?" Robards asked.

"Jugson's ambitious," Snape said, "but lacks patience so he takes big risks for big perceived rewards. Consistently 'acceptable' student. I haven't heard what he was doing last year-"

"He works odd jobs," Hestia chimed in. "I did a few shifts with him at the Leaky, and he was on the Knight Bus roster for a bit there, too."

"Daunce was a quiet achiever, but well-connected," Snape said. "She took a position with the Department of International Cooperation when she graduated, and I daresay the Dark Lord will be using her networks to his full advantage."

"Minerva?" Bones asked.

"Rowle's impulsive," McGonagall said, rather thickly, "and what he lacks in magical finesse he makes up for with magical power. As a boy he had a tendency to be a bit cruel-" Percy snorted at that. "-but I'd thought he'd grown out of it." She sighed. "And Gibbon was capable if unremarkable. A nice boy, optimistic, but the most influenceable person I've ever met - could never see a bad decision for what it was until he was the one left holding the guilty wand or whatever it was he'd been encouraged to 'borrow'..." She pursed her lips, then sighed again.

"Anything else, Severus?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Where he has gained supporters, he has also lost one; I am now certain that unless he is confronted by the Dark Lord himself, Igor Karkaroff will attempt to flee, or seek our protection."

"Will we offer it?" Doge asked.

"We won't approach him," Bones said. "But if he approaches us, we'll do what we can. Scrimgeour has his eyes open, thank Merlin, but the rest of the Ministry is deluding itself; they can't pretend there's nothing going on, not after the World Cup, but the running theory is that there's a dark witch or wizard out there trying to imitate You Know Who-"

"Have they considered that it could just be the real thing?" Vance asked, resting her chin in her hands.

"Cornelius is adamant that's not possible," Bones said tiredly.

"How can he say it's not possible?" Harry blurted, and suddenly the weight of everyone's eyes was on him. "It's not like we're lacking proof - look at the Stone, and the Chamber, and Wormtail, and Crouch, and Polkov, and-"

"He will not allow himself to be convinced," Dumbledore said.

"Because he doesn't want to believe it, or because he's under pressure not to?" Harry asked, looking between Dumbledore and Padfoot.

"That's the question, isn't it," Podmore murmured, giving Harry a thoughtful look.

"We're reasonably confident it's the former," Dumbledore said. "But we have digressed, once again. Severus?"

"I only have one other matter." Snape withdrew a bit of parchment from his robes and tossed it across the table to Padfoot.

"Is this a new list?" Padfoot asked. "Because it looks awfully familiar…" He passed it across to Robards, who scanned it, eyebrows drawing together.

"It's a list made two days ago; someone on it supplied their memory of the task to the Dark Lord so that he could watch it." Harry stared at him, and then at Padfoot; it had been a memory, not Voldemort discovering how to manipulate the timing of what Harry saw. "Do with it what you will." Snape backed away from the table, going to linger in the shadowy corner by the fireplace, apparently done.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Matthew?"

Matt stood from where he'd been seated by Dora.

"Macnair visited again last week," he said tiredly. "This time Pettigrew was with him-"

"What?!" Padfoot asked sharply. Moony looked unhappy but unsurprised, so Matt must have had time to mention it to him before the meeting started.

"Yeah," Matt said. "He was... pretty well received, honestly."

"Hard not to be, when you compare him to Macnair the executioner," Padfoot muttered. Hagrid gave a grunt of agreement.

"He made a lovely little speech about how he used to be best friends with _one of our kind_." Matt looked to Moony. "He said when you picked this side, you picked wizards, and that you don't care what happens to us as long as you can keep pretending you're human-"

"No," Padfoot said, pointing at Moony, who'd opened his mouth, "to whatever self-deprecating nonsense you're about to say." Moony snorted and bounced Stella on his knee instead. "Matt, did they say what they actually want?"

"For us to join them in the fight for a better world. To pick up Greyback's cause again. The usual."

"And...?" Dora asked, biting her lip.

"Most of the camp's on board. No official agreements or pledges of support or anything, but it's only a matter of time." Matt hesitated, then, carefully, said, "Headmaster, we'll need to discuss Greentooth and Silverear after this meeting."

"Discuss who?" Hestia asked curiously. Matt glanced at her but said nothing. Dumbledore inclined his head.

"Are _you_ safe?" Dora asked into the wary silence that followed.

"Safe enough," Matt said, shrugging. "They know we're close-" He nodded at Moony. "-but Richard and Nancy are convinced I'd side with them over you these days. Even Deb's starting to come around."

"What about Macnair and Pettigrew?" Padfoot asked.

"I'm no one to them. And if they decide they need my name, I'm a Rosier." He shrugged. "For all they know I take more after my uncle than my dad."

"But if Debbie, or Richard, or Nancy mention my name to them, to Peter, in association with yours-"

"They won't, Remus," Matt said. "You know what they're like. They like to put up a united front, especially when they're dealing with wizards. If they've got issues with me, they'll deal with them within the pack."

An uneasy silence followed that; Moony and Matt seemed to hold an entire conversation with their eyes and there were a number of glances passed between other Order members. While everyone was obviously comfortable with Moony and Matt, it was clear to Harry that they weren't all comfortable with werewolves overall; Hestia and Shacklebolt in particular seemed uneasy.

"I'll go next, shall I?" Moody said gruffly. Dumbledore waved a hand in invitation. "Nice short item for the new members and for the old ones that haven't taken me up on it yet - we're holding training sessions on dates with a three in them, at the old duelling hall in Hogsmeade." Moody's eye swivelled around, stern. "Some of us haven't duelled for a long time, others of us haven't properly duelled _ever_ and then there's apparition and patronuses and all that to cover too. We saw at the World Cup that the Death Eaters haven't been idle and I don't want anyone ending up dead because they weren't prepared. So: dates with a three. Training. Hogsmeade."

"Constant vigilance," Dora added, and winked at Moody when he gave her a withering look.

"Don't encourage him," Doge muttered.

"Thank you, Alastor," Dumbledore said, beard twitching, then, more seriously: "I would strongly encourage you all to find the time to take Alastor up on his offer." Moody grunted. "Amelia?"

"Nothing much from me," she said. "Other than to ask if you're expecting to need an Order presence tomorrow night."

"I do not expect to need one, no," Dumbledore said. "Happily, though, almost half of our number shall be in attendance anyway, either as an Auror on duty-" He nodded to Marlene. "-or as a staff member at one of the competing schools." This time, he looked to Padfoot, Moony, Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid.

"Or a partner of one of them," Dora said.

"Or as a Champion," Hestia said, pointing at Harry.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a small smile.

"Are we any closer to working out how You Know Who plans to use the Tournament, Headmaster?" Vance asked after several moments of quiet. "Other than maybe hoping Potter will be knocked off in one of the tasks?" She glanced at Harry. "Sorry."

"That's not what he wants," Harry said. He looked to Dumbledore who didn't look at all bothered that Harry had answered a question addressed to him. In fact, he gave a small nod that Harry took as permission to elaborate. "Sorry- I mean, he _does_ want me dead, but he wants to be the one to do it."

"Dead's dead, though," Podmore said, looking a bit disturbed.

"Not to Voldemort," Harry said, and the table erupted with hisses and squawks, shook from flinches and shudders. Harry stared around the kitchen, surprised by the reactions. "What does the Order do, sir?" he asked Dumbledore quietly, while everyone else recovered.

"That, lad, is a question you should've known the answer to _before_ you were allowed here today," the old man that looked a bit like Dumbledore said.

"We are an independent opposition to Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry," Dumbledore said. "We are soldiers, and we are spies, but above all, we are protectors."

"That's what I thought," Harry said, casting another uncertain look around the table; Dumbledore's use of Voldemort's name had set everyone off again. He knew the wizarding world was uncomfortable with the name, but these were people that had signed up to actively oppose him… They needed people like this, people that were prepared to stand up against Voldemort, but if they couldn't even stand to hear the name… Harry's eyes met Padfoot's, then Moony's; both seemed to know what he was thinking and looked grimly amused.

"We've got sidetracked - what does _he_ want from the Tournament, if it's not Potter's death?" Vance asked.

"To prove his influence," Snape said, with a tinge of impatience, "-and his power-"

"That's it?" Mundungus asked, blinking. The look he received in return was Neville-in-Potions-level scathing, and he put up his hands as if in defence. "Just seems like an awful lot of effort to prove a point…"

"I'd say the subtleties were lost on you, but there's nothing subtle about this, which means you have even less of an excuse," Snape said. Harry got the impression he wasn't only speaking to Mundungus.

"There's no need to be rude, Snape," Bones said. "I appreciate You Know Who's putting on a show to reassure old followers and attract new ones, but it _is_ a lot of effort. The attack at the World Cup likely did more for his cause than the Tournament-"

"Wrong," Snape said, almost boredly.

"Would you care to explain then?" Podmore asked irritably. Several people made noises of agreement. "Rather than just make snide and unhelpful comments-"

"Not especially - it seems to me there's little point in doing so." Dumbledore cleared his throat and Snape's expression soured. "Very well." He straightened in his chair. "I'll keep it simple, shall I, so you can all follow along?" The man that looked a bit like Dumbledore snorted.

"Headmaster," Vance complained.

"I thought I'd have a night off making children play nicely with each other when we left ours at home," Mrs Weasley said, tone somehow both conversational and pointed.

"Likewise in getting away from the school," McGongagall said, unimpressed.

"I don't see quibbling," Moody said. "I see information that could be of use to the Order being withheld, and deliberate needling of other members to sow dissent within our ranks-"

"'S jus' Snape tryin' ter get a rise," Hagrid said, waving an enormous hand. "'S'not sabotage or nothin'."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, looking amused. Harry noticed a small smile on Padfoot's face too. "If we could stay on track… Severus."

"Headmaster," Snape said curtly. "The Dark Lord's sympathisers look at Potter in the Tournament and see their Lord's influence going unopposed, see Potter at risk simply because the Dark Lord has willed it so. The general wizarding public are distracted by the Tournament and the rubbish in the _Prophet_ , oblivious. They're uncertain about _how_ exactly, Potter came to be a competitor, but have gradually been won over by his reckless heroics and general habit of making a spectacle of himself. They have, for the most part, united themselves behind him, and the Dark Lord will-" Snape paused momentarily, frowning. "-use that; if he defeats their Champion, he likely believes he will _become_ their Champion."

And dishearten everyone enough to pre-emptively quash any resistance, Harry thought. Snape glanced at him then, fleetingly and _open_ \- Harry could see consideration and concern - and then away again so quickly that Harry wondered if he'd imagined it.

"And those that are less - if only marginally less - oblivious-" Snape made a dismissive gesture around the table. "-are, for the most part, busy wasting time wondering about his motives."

"Understanding motives are important," Shacklebolt said calmly. " _Know thy enemy_."

"The Dark Lord wields mystery and fear and chaos as easily and skillfully as he wields magic," Snape said. "All three of those things are simple to warp or enhance through stories and rumours-"

"Is there a point, here, Snape," Moody barked, "or are you just here to wax rhapsodic about your-"

"The point is that understanding the Dark Lord is beyond each and every one of you until you've spent time with him somewhere other than across a battlefield. It is not something you learn, but rather something that you come to _know_. Speculation about his motives serve little purpose; he is as subtle as he is obvious, as predictable as he is surprising, and above all, he is cleverer than you."

Moody gave a begrudging little grunt at that.

"Fine," Bill said evenly. "So we give up on trying to understand him… Then what?"

"You do what those of us that do understand him tell you to," Snape said, and immediately lost all the progress he'd made; his comment was met with scowls and rolled eyes and - in the man who looked like Dumbledore's case - a scoffed, " _Us_ ".

"Why are you here, Snape?" Bones asked. "You've been rude and sarcastic from the first moment of the first meeting and not improved even slightly since." Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who was watching intently from his seat, but making no move to interfere. "In fact, I think you're getting _more_ unpleasant. The Order's voluntary, so you're not being forced to attend."

"I'm here to provide you with information about the Dark Lord and his followers," Snape said, "in the hope that that information will contribute to their eventual defeat."

"You're not, though," Podmore said. "Because we just asked for information and you didn't want to share-"

"Apologies," Snape said, not sounding very sorry at all, "I misspoke: I'm here to provide you with _relevant_ information."

"I think information about You Know Who's motives is relevant!" Hestia said.

"Not to you."

"That's not for you to decide," Vance said sharply.

"What benefit is there for you to understand the Dark Lord?" Snape asked the room at large. "Should you have the misfortune to find yourself staring down your wand at him, it will be luck or numbers that save you, not understanding." He arched an eyebrow, as if daring anyone to disagree. "By all means study those that follow him, learn how _they_ think, which spells _they_ favour, or what words you might say to convert them from his side to ours. _That_ is within your scope. The Dark Lord is not. None of you are here because you're going to be the one to overcome _him,_ you're here to ensure that - when the time comes - he stands alone. And you're here to ensure that someone who _does_ have a chance of defeating him isn't caught in the back by a wayward killing curse, or kept from the real fight by the Dark Lord's supporters. You are shields and you are distractions, and if you think otherwise, you're deluding yourselves."

Peripherally, Harry could see Padfoot trying to catch his eye, but he kept his focus on the wooden grain of the table, not because he was trying to avoid Padfoot, but because he couldn't bring himself to look at anyone else after what Snape had just said.

Snape was _right_. In a very scathing and Snape-ish way, but right nonetheless; none of these people would be the ones to defeat Voldemort. That was reserved for Harry, and Harry alone, and they would fight to give him the chance to do so. But where Harry struggled with that - because how many of them would fight to give him that chance and _lose_ , would fight and _die_? - most people around the table were shrugging and nodding, not just conceding Snape's point, but actively, knowingly, agreeing with it.

It was a lot. It-

"I find myself in need of the bathroom," Dumbledore said abruptly, standing.

"Kreacher can show-" But before Kreacher could finish his offer, Dumbledore continued:

"Harry, would you be so kind as to show me the way?"

Harry nodded, stood, and squeezed through everyone; he heard Dumbledore ask Robards and Marlene to provide the room with an Auror update in his absence, then followed Harry upstairs.

"It's this way, sir." Harry gestured to the main staircase. Dumbledore simply hummed, examining a photo on the wall; it was of Moony, Padfoot, and Harry's parents at their wedding. It occurred to Harry then that Dumbledore might not need the bathroom after all. "Sir?"

"Harry?" Dumbledore replied, in the same tone, moving onto the next photo; this one was of Harry's grandparents, Padfoot, and James.

"You didn't stop Snape from-"

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly, but waved a hand; the walls flashed silencing-charm-purple.

"You let him say- all that." Because Dumbledore hadn't interrupted once downstairs. "You- do you agree?"

"Do you disagree?" Dumbledore asked. Harry shook his head, slowly, uncomfortably.

"But to call them shields and distractions-"

"A crude way for Severus to phrase it, but-" Dumbledore sighed. "-not entirely incorrect."

"And they're all okay with that. They were all nodding. And you're okay with asking them to be okay with that, but I can't ask- I don't want any of them to get hurt or- or die because of me." Harry glanced at the photographs. "My parents already... I can't. _I won't_."

"Peace, dear boy," Dumbledore said, with painful understanding on his face. He reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder and Harry took a deep breath in, forcing himself to calm down. "You have not asked them to do anything."

"No, but you have, or they've volunteered, or whatever, but it's still on me-"

"No, Harry-"

"Yes. It's- the prophecy…"

"The prophecy," Dumbledore sighed. "I fear you would always have seemed too young to tell, but I truly think Sirius ought to have waited a few more years." He sighed again. "But that's beside the point for now… What _is_ the point here, is that the people downstairs don't fight for the prophecy - or by extension, you - because they don't know it exists."

"They- at all?"

"At all," Dumbledore said. "Indeed, the majority of them have been a part of the Order since its conception - a number of years before the prophecy was even made."

"I- right."

"Why do you fight Voldemort, Harry?"

"Because the prophecy-"

"So you mean to say that if there were no prophecy, you'd no longer oppose him?" Dumbledore cocked his head.

"What? No, of course I would!" Harry said. "He killed my parents-"

"Ah, so it's revenge?" Dumbledore said, nodding.

"No, it's- he's wrong, and what he wants is wrong. He hurts people and ruins families and he can't- the world he wants isn't the one I want." Dumbledore smiled.

"And you would risk harm or even death to stop him from creating that world?"

"Of course I would," Harry said; it was an honest answer, but he wasn't sure it would be what Dumbledore wanted to hear.

"So is it truly so difficult to believe that others might do the same? I saw your face when Severus finished speaking, saw your horror. I know opposing Voldemort is a very personal thing to you - for a number of reasons - but you are not the only one for whom that is true." Dumbledore's voice was gentle.

"No, I- I know that," Harry said, and did, but it had been a long time since he thought of it that way, "but it's good to be reminded that it's not just me fighting, or people fighting _because_ of me. That it's... bigger." Dumbledore smiled.

"I confess, that's the main reason I allowed you to attend this evening," Dumbledore said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, frowning.

Dumbledore smiled slightly and said, "You will not want to hear this, I suspect, but I am very much in agreement with those that believe you have quite enough to deal with at the moment without adding the Order of the Phoenix." Harry wasn't sure what his face looked like, but Dumbledore's smile widened. "It is in no way a reflection of your ability to handle it. It is simply that we have failed to protect you yet again this year, and we find ourselves wishing for smaller victories; namely, to try not to burden you with more than is absolutely necessary."

"Being here was necessary," Harry said.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "But more, I think, because it has provided us with the opportunity to have this conversation than because of anything you have learned about resisting Voldemort."

"Maybe," Harry conceded; he felt lighter than he had in some time, felt more hopeful. He cocked his head. "Hang on… does that mean I can't come next time?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore said. "But I daresay you shall come with a different perspective. And that future meetings shall serve as reminders that you are not alone."

"Is that what they are for you as well?" Harry asked. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, and it occurred to Harry that was a rather personal question. "Sorry-"

"Yes. Amongst other things," Dumbledore said. Harry wanted to ask but didn't quite dare. Dumbledore's beard twitched. "For instance, that there are good, brave people in the world."

That was a nice thing to be reminded of. Harry nodded and he and Dumbledore lapsed into silence. Harry was running through everything they'd talked about, and Dumbledore appeared to have gone back to looking at the photographs on the walls, but Harry suspected he was waiting to see if Harry had any more questions.

"Sir," Harry said after a moment. "If they don't know about the prophecy, then they don't know how he can be beaten..."

"Ah, but they also don't know that there is only - apparently - a specific way for him to be beaten." Dumbledore smoothed his beard. "Knowing the prophecy does, perhaps, change the _way_ we fight, but it does not change that we _do_. That they do."

"But shouldn't they know?" Harry asked. "If they're willing to fight regardless-"

"No," Dumbledore said. "To use Professor Snape's phrasing, this is once again an instance where it is not their place to know, but rather to follow the lead of those of us that do."

"Why, though?" Harry asked. "They don't need details, but we could give them the gist… Do you not trust them?" Surely that wasn't it, if Dumbledore thought they were all good, brave people.

"I trust them with my life," Dumbledore said quietly, "but not with yours."

"Mine?" Harry blinked, confused.

"Do you trust them? These people that you've just met?"

"I- _you_ do," Harry said.

"Flattering as your faith in me is, Harry, I fear you once again place too much trust in my judgement," Dumbledore said, but this time his smile was sad. Harry found himself thinking of Padfoot and his time in Azkaban, of Snape who was on their side but not - at least in Harry's opinion - necessarily _good_. "I have no desire to see you in a position where you would be pressured into fulfilling the prophecy in a particular way, or before you are ready to, or where you might be forced to shoulder the blame for an injury because you have _not_ fulfilled it."

"I- I don't really think other people are the problem, there," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore sighed, scent sad, and knowing. "But allow an old man to take a small victory in protecting you from _something,_ even if he cannot protect you from everything." His voice was heavy, and Harry knew - despite almost phrasing it as a favour - this was not something he would compromise on.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and Dumbledore nodded, considering him for a few long moments before nodding once more. Harry waited, but Dumbledore didn't say anything else and Harry didn't think he was waiting for Harry to speak anymore, so he gestured to the stairs: "Should we…?"

"Yes, you'd best head back down," Dumbledore said.

"What about you?"

"I shall follow in another minute or two." Dumbledore's scent turned amused. "You see, I am certain most of them have assumed I wished to speak with you privately, but because I did not say that was what we were doing, we must now make the effort to keep my excuse to leave the room with you plausible so that it is not an insult to their intelligence. In return, they will attempt to spare our feelings by allowing us to believe we were successful and subtle in our deception." Harry blinked and Dumbledore clicked his fingers - the walls shimmered as he removed the silencing charm - and waved Harry back toward the stairs.


	35. Midnight Meetings

"It doesn't sound like we missed out on much, then," Ron said.

"That's not the point," Hermione grumbled, scowling; of the three of them, she had been the most offended by their exclusion from the Order meeting. Probably, Ron thought, because she'd thought she'd be able to go, whereas he and Ginny had been under no illusions from the beginning.

"I don't think I remember Rowle or Gibbon," Ginny said, sinking down further into the couch.

"I do, sort of," Hermione sighed. "Rowle gave Draco a hard time in the first few months of our first year."

"I don't remember that," Ron said, glancing at Harry, who shook his head as well.

"Well you wouldn't, would you; Draco wasn't spending much time with us at that point." Hermione tucked her legs up beneath her. "And I'm pretty sure it was him that was always really rude about Lockhart in the common room."

"Well, I s'pose even Death Eaters have got to have at least one redeeming quality," Harry said. Ron sniggered and watched as Hermione threw a cushion in Harry's direction. He caught it and sat on it, grinning, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him but her expression had softened and she gave Ron a small, almost shy - because things were still a bit weird between them - smile when she noticed him looking; between the second task being over, Snape's news that Voldemort had watched the task through a memory and not been messing around in Harry's head, and whatever Dumbledore had spoken to him about - which Harry had alluded to but not gone into any detail about - Harry was more relaxed and cheerful tonight than he had been in some time.

"News about the werewolves is a bit worrying, isn't it," Ginny said. "Having them on Riddle's side would be-"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Matt, and Moony were in the library with Dumbledore when I left, trying to work out what they can do-"

"I _told_ you," Percy said from behind them, sounding both smug and exasperated. He was standing in the doorway with Bill, dusting Floo powder off his jumper; Harry had come over as soon as the meeting ended, but Charlie was probably having a last catch up with Dora, and Dad and Sirius were probably talking about motorcycles while Mum played with Stella.

"I'm sure it's not what it looks like," Bill said, coming to sit on the arm of the couch Ginny was occupying. "Harry wouldn't be telling them what was discussed at the meeting because he knows better than to go about sharing highly sensitive information with people that are both underage, and haven't been invited to hear it." Bill folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Right?"

Harry's guilty silence was probably answer enough, but Ginny and Hermione both looked back at Bill, defiant. Bill's unimpressed look morphed into a worried one.

"You realise there are reasons you weren't invited, don't you?" he asked. Percy took one look at the four of them and bid them goodnight, likely recognising a lost cause when he saw one.

"Yeah," Harry said, with a grin that - for all everyone said he looked like his dad - was all Sirius. "It's because the kitchen at home wasn't big enough to fit another three people and it would have been really inconvenient to try to find another place to host at such short notice." Ron chortled.

"That's the best reason I've heard so far, honestly," Ginny muttered.

"That's not the reason," Bill said, doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face; Ron had seen his mouth twitch. "There are others and - much as I'm sure you don't want to hear it - they're _good_ ones." He gave them - even Harry and Hermione - his disapproving big brother face. Ron hadn't actually ever had it directed at him before, but he'd seen it used on the twins to immediate effect; Bill - like Dad - was so level-headed and open that disapproval from him meant you'd overstepped. Only Ron didn't think they had this time.

"Of course there are," Ginny said, as if Bill were silly for thinking otherwise. "Obviously we're all too young to have to have anything to do with Voldemort-" Bill twitched. "-or his Death Eaters, and we're all so innocent we'd get nightmares hearing about all the things they're getting up to."

"Obviously," Hermione agreed; she was usually the first to succumb to authority, but either she'd been emboldened by Ginny's response or she had enough of a doxy in her hat over not being allowed to go tonight that she wasn't about to cave now. "And really, we've got no idea what's being done to try to stop them, so we'd be utterly lost in the meetings anyway and not have anything at all to contribute."

"Utterly," Ron said, straight-faced. "And, of course, it'd be too risky for us to know who's a part of the meetings in case we somehow gave them away to the Death Eaters, and it's irrelevant anyway; when are any of us ever going to be in a situation where we might need to know what adults to go to for help?"

"Never," Harry said, apparently unable to help himself, "because the adults will always manage to intervene before any of us can get into any danger at all."

There was silence for a few pointed moments, and then Bill - clearly feeling very ganged up on - shook his head and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He looked a little shell-shocked.

Ginny laughed at him - not unkindly - and said, "This isn't the first time we've had this conversation, you know."

"Obviously," Bill said, shaking his head again. "Merlin. A bloke tries to have a chat with his siblings-"

"It wasn't just a chat - you were trying to make us feel guilty," Ginny said, scowling.

"A bit," Bill said after a pause, and grinned. "You know why, though-"

"'Course we do," Ron said. "We're not thick." Bill eyed him warily, perhaps expecting they might gang up on him again, then seemed to realise Ron was being serious. "There are loads of good reasons why we shouldn't be involved, it's just that the ones for why we _should_ are better."

"Better?" Harry asked.

"S'pose they're pretty bleak, really," Ron said, grimacing at him. He turned back to Bill: "They're stronger then."

"More persuasive," Hermione suggested. Bill shook his head again, but he wasn't disagreeing this time, and Ron knew he wasn't upset with them, or even genuinely disapproving. He was just worried.

There was a boom upstairs that made the house rattle; Hermione started, but neither Ginny or Harry seemed any more surprised than Ron. Bill's only reaction was to make a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sigh, and stand.

"Better make sure they haven't blown themselves up," he said. "Don't stay up too late." He leaned over to kiss Ginny on the top of the head, ruffled Ron's hair, then Harry's, and smiled at Hermione.

"It's the holidays!" Ginny said.

"Yeah, but you've got a big night tomorrow," he said, grinning. Ron's good mood faded somewhat. Harry glanced his way, but Ron didn't return the look.

"Have a safe trip back to Egypt," Hermione said.

"Will we see you in the morning?" Ron asked, gesturing between him and Ginny.

"If you're up before my portkey goes," Bill said. "Which is another reason to turn in soon."

"We will," Ginny said. "As soon as we catch Harry up - won't take long."

"Let's hear it then," Harry said, leaning back to rest on his elbows as Bill left to see what the twins were up to.

"Well," Hermione said, "'merfolk' can be broken down into three subspecies; sirens, which are-"

"Basically veela with fish tails," Ginny said, and Harry looked interested.

"There are photos in one of these," Ron muttered to Harry, nudging the pile of books on the coffee table. "I'll show you later." Harry's mouth twitched up, and Hermione had either heard Ron or guessed what he'd said because she rolled her eyes.

"They're supposed to be very beautiful, and are best known for luring sailors to their deaths." She said that last part a little pointedly, and Ron grinned.

"There are worse ways to go, I reckon," he said. Harry sniggered.

" _Then_ ," Hermione said, "there are selkies and merrows, which are from Scotland and Ireland, respectively. Obviously they're more suited to cooler waters, and while a siren can pass for a human from the waist up, selkies and merrows definitely _can't_."

"They're kind of scary looking," Ron said.

"But they're not as likely to eat humans," Ginny said. "Although they have still been known to attack and drown them."

"Great," Harry said. "And do they all speak Mermish?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Although the books seem to suggest each sub-species speaks a slightly different version of it."

"Any chance you know which version's the horrible, screechy one? Or are they all like that?"

"Selkies and merrows are," Ginny said. "But sirens are meant to sound really nice, so we can probably rule them out. And of the two, we reckon it's more likely to be selkies."

"Did you know the Lake has a selkie colony in it?" Ron asked.

"Huh," Harry said.

"Hermione read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

"Of course she did. Great book, that," Harry said sagely, mouth twitching. Hermione looked like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or hit them both over the head with said book.

"Yeah, a real page turner," Ron agreed. Ginny coughed to hide a laugh.

"It is!" Hermione said, exasperated. "And you two really ought to stop disparaging it, because it's helped us out more times than I can count!" They both looked at her for a moment then turned back to each other.

"So, given Hogwarts has selkies," Ron said, and Hermione made an annoyed sound and threw her hands up, "it'd sort of make sense it'd be to do with them, right - both the other tasks have been on the grounds."

"Yeah," Harry said, straight-faced, though his eyes were bright with amusement. "So then we just have to work out what they're saying in the egg-"

"Good thing we know how to translate Mermish, then," Ginny said smugly. Harry stared at her, then at Ron and Hermione. "Water."

"Water?" Harry blinked. "That's it?"

"Well," Hermione said, "there's a fascinating and rather complicated explanation for how the acoustics of the Mermish language are affected by the properties of air compared with water-"

"Put the egg in the bath," Ron advised, before Hermione could get too carried away. She rolled her eyes at him, then smiled at the disbelieving look on Harry's face.

"That's it?" Harry repeated.

"That's it," Ginny said, smiling.

* * *

Eager as Harry was to know what the egg's clue was, he and the others had agreed they'd wait until they were back at Hogwarts so that Draco wasn't left out, and because they'd need a pool rather than a bathtub if they were all to be able to listen at the same time ("The Room can do that, easy," Ron said).

"It's also probably best that we wait so you can actually enjoy tomorrow," Hermione said later that night, sliding down the headboard of Harry's bed a little more, yawning. "Otherwise poor Luna's not going to get a word out of you about anything but merfolk."

"Being Luna, I don't reckon she'd mind," Harry said, yawning himself, and Hermione laughed.

"Maybe not," she conceded. She slid a little further, then gave in completely, lying down and tucking one of Harry's spare pillows under her head. "I think it should be fun, tomorrow."

"Yeah, I s'pose," Harry said, and Hermione laughed again, shaking her head.

"You're hopeless," she said.

"Sorry. I- er…" Harry racked his brains for safe, Ball-related conversation topics, since it seemed like that was what Hermione wanted to talk about. "Have you worked out what you're going to wear?"

"Weeks ago," Hermione said, sounding amused.

"That's good," Harry said.

"It is, given the Ball's _tomorrow_ ," Hermione said. There was a pause, then, as if she were dreading the answer, she added, "Dare I ask if you're organised?"

"Dress robes were on the school list at the start of term," Harry assured her.

"That's right," she said, sounding like she might laugh again. "Are yours better than Ron's?"

"Dunno, haven't seen his," Harry said, wondering what might be wrong with them. "Mine are red-"

"You and everyone else," Hermione said. "Ron's are maroon." She hesitated, and then said, "And Viktor's going in burgundy." She studied him for a moment. "Red, really?"

"A dark red," Harry said. "We- Padfoot and I picked black when we got the list but we changed them - figured I'd worn enough black this year." Hermione made a soft, sad sound, and Harry smiled slightly. "Padfoot even talked me into a bit of gold trim."

"Very Gryffindor of you," Hermione said, smiling too.

"That was that idea," Harry admitted. "So… how's _Viktor_?"

Hermione turned to him, eyes narrowed, but the effect was ruined by her flustered scent and pink cheeks.

"He's good," Hermione said. Harry grinned.

"No hard feelings after the second task?" he asked, though he knew there hadn't been; Hermione and Dora had been whispering and giggling in Hagrid's hut afterward, and he doubted that would have been the case if she's been worried.

"No," Hermione said, not meeting his eye; she stared resolutely at the ceiling. "He was very... understanding."

"Understanding," Harry repeated, amused.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said, kicking him, her face flaming.

"I didn't say anything - just one word! _Your_ word, actually- Ow!" He rolled out of the way laughing and Hermione relented. He gave it a moment to be sure he was safe, then flopped back down beside her.

"You're such a _boy_ ," she said.

"Would it help if I squealed a bit, or offered to plait your hair, or whatever it is Lavender and Parvati do?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but it was fond.

"I suppose I ought to just be grateful that it's you I'm having this conversation with and not Ron," Hermione said, and then paused, perhaps realising that there'd be a bit more to Ron's reaction here than just general boyishness. "He's- he's all right, isn't he?"

Harry groaned and folded the pillow over his face. The bed shifted as Hermione sat up, waiting, and Harry realised that she was probably not just going to let the matter drop, and that not talking about things was what had got them into this mess in the first place.

He let the pillow drop.

"This is really not a conversation I want to have," he said. Hermione managed to look both pleading and exasperated. Harry sighed. "He's- I don't want to say anything he wouldn't want, because it's not my place, so-" Harry ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. "Look, Ron- he did actually want to go with you, it wasn't just that he was desperate or- yeah. So he- when you- I think he was a bit-"

"I didn't know," Hermione said, a little defensively.

"Neither," Harry admitted. "Not until he told me."

"Well that's not especially surprising," Hermione said, with a half-hearted smile. "You're still a bit hopeless at this sort of thing." Harry shrugged, conceding that. "Do you think it'll go back to normal?" He could tell from the change in her tone that they were back to talking about Ron. "The old normal, I mean, not our current normal, even if it has been much better since the task."

"Tonight was sort of like the old normal," Harry offered. And it had been, except for when Bill had mentioned tomorrow and Ron had gone momentarily quiet and uncomfortable.

"It was once you got there," Hermione said. "Ginny went and had a shower at one point and I don't think we spoke at all while she was gone."

"Dunno, then," Harry said.

"That's not helpful," Hermione grumbled.

"You're the one that said I was hopeless, remember?"

"Yes, but we're not- Ron and I aren't- We're _friends._ It's different so maybe you're less hopeless." Harry glanced over and gave her a dubious look. "What would you do if it was you Ron was fighting with?"

Honestly, Harry couldn't really imagine fighting with Ron. He'd fought with Hermione over wanting to use the time turner last year, with Ginny in the Shack after he received his Walpurgis uniform, with Padfoot several times, and with Moony when he found out Dora was pregnant with Stella, but never with Ron, not seriously.

"Dunno," he said, stymied. "I- er- I s'pose it'd depend whose fault it was."

"Let's say it's yours," Hermione said, in a small voice.

"Do I know that?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded jerkily. "All right, then, I'd probably just tell him I'm sorry?"

"Easier said than done," Hermione muttered. "It's not really an easy thing to bring up."

"Ron managed to bring up the Ball with you," Harry said, giving her a sideways look, and Hermione gave him a withering look in return, then let out a sigh, scent miserable.

"You're right. I'll-once the Ball's over, I'll pull him aside." Harry could almost hear her mind ticking over how she'd do that, what she'd say. "And speaking of the Ball, we really should get to bed." She gave Harry's hand a squeeze, sat up and slipped off Harry's bed, padding over to the door. "Good night, Harry. Thanks for..." She made a vague gesture and Harry smiled.

"Night, Hermione."

* * *

"Sirius Black's office," Hermione said, and disappeared in a whoosh of green.

"Hang on - where are you off to?" Sirius asked, as Harry made to step into the fire after her.

"Er… the Burrow," Harry said. "We were going to throw a Quaffle around for a bit before we head back to school."

"Not yet," Sirius said, draining the last of his tea and standing. He gestured for Harry to follow him and Harry did, curious and a little apprehensive. Apprehensive won out when Sirius opened the door to their makeshift training room. Harry stepped past him and looked around.

"Champions are leading the first dance tonight," Sirius said, leaning against the doorway. "I know McGonagall gave you the heads up, and I know she wasn't particularly confident that that had done any good because she mentioned it to me before she left last night."

"I was listening when she told me," Harry said, frowning.

"Yes, but you can't dance particularly well," Sirius said, amused. "And certainly not formally." He pushed off the doorway.

"Oh, no," Harry said, baulking as he caught on. His eyes flicked to the door, and then to the windows.

"Oh, yes," Sirius said, stepping a little further into the room (but not so far that he unblocked the doorway). "Here." He held his arms up, like he was positioning them on an imaginary partner, and waited. Harry stayed where he was. After several long moments, he said, "I hope you're not planning to ignore Luna like this."

"I'm not going to ignore Luna," Harry grumbled.

"But you will ignore your poor, old godfather?" Harry made a rude hand gesture at him and Sirius snorted a laugh. "Come on, kiddo, the longer you put it off, the worse this is going to be."

"I doubt it," Harry said.

"I have to be back at the school to help prepare in another couple of hours. If we're not done by then, I'm calling Andromeda in to take over."

He stayed where he was, arms poised, and Harry shuffled forward the way Sirius imagined he would if he were approaching a particularly dangerous and unpredictable creature in one of Hagrid's lessons. "One hand on my waist, one hand on mine," he said. Harry didn't move, so Sirius cleared his throat, batted his eyelashes, and waited.

Harry lifted his hands- and then gave Sirius a push and ducked under his raised arm, bolting into the hallway. Sirius caught himself on the doorframe, rolled his eyes, and called:

"Kreacher!"

Kreacher popped into being between Harry and the kitchen stairs and Harry skidded to a stop, giving Sirius a betrayed look. Kreacher's big, pale eyes flicked between them, suspicious.

Sirius beckoned Harry back with a finger and Harry shuffled over, shoulders slumped, expression resigned.

"Nice try," he said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders and guiding him back into the training room.


End file.
